Mark of Dean
by StaciAnnR
Summary: Not brothers anymore? Fine. Fine - Dean ditches Baby, the Bunker, and his Angel. After calling Crowley, they strike a deal of sorts. He won't sell his soul to the demon, but maybe a soul isn't all he has of value these days. Crowley knows something's off, but while he works on figuring out what happened, he turns Dean into a BAFM weapon. A very hot, very focused BAFM *SPOILERS*
1. Chapter 1

Not brothers anymore.

Sam wouldn't save him.

His little brother would let him die.

What do you do with that?

Dean drained the last bit of rot gut and laid on his bed. He could hear his… He could hear Sam walking around in the library down the hall.

The thing was – this was his life. Was he selfish? Yes. But each fucking time he'd saved Sam, that asshole had found a measure of peace. Of happiness. And it wound up the prick didn't want any of it. Nothing of what Dean had worked so damn hard his entire life to provide.

Sometimes, life simply wasn't worth it.

Dean shrugged his jacket on and stepped into his boots. You know what? Fuck this. Vessel of Michael? Forty years in hell? An angel that kept leaving him and a brother that didn't want him? Fine.

Fine.

He grabbed his keys and wallet and walked into the library. Sitting at a table was the man Dean had gone to hell for. The man he had run from a burning building with, the man he had sold his soul for. The man who wanted nothing more to do with him.

Fine.

Dean turned without a word and walk towards the garage. With a touch to an old button, the garage bay door opened. The barrel Dean had placed just outside the door stood ready. Stacked inside with wood and kindling, Dean poured just a little liquid fuel to help before he flicked a lighter in. The whoosh of fire usually gave his pyromaniac side a little rush, but he was just cold at the moment. He reached down and picked up the cast iron camp stove that had come from who knows where. The Men of Letters had the strangest shit.

Placing the stove in the open flame, Dean nodded. It wouldn't take long for the fire to reach the right temperature.

He sighed and turned back inside. His eyes lingered for a moment on Baby. He wasn't going to take the Impala. Baby could retire here in this swank garage. Maybe some hunter would one day love her as much as Dean did, but frankly… Right now he needed something different.

Opening the trunk, Dean looked over the trove of weapons. Very few belonged to him alone. Most were either handed down, spoils of war, or flat out stolen. Ah, his sawed off shot gun. He remembered John buying it new and teaching a twelve year old Dean how to saw it off and file the edges smooth so it wouldn't scrap his skin if he needed to hide it under clothing. He grabbed it and a box of normal shells.

He dumped the cell phone he'd been carrying through the open driver's side window. He'd carefully copied a couple of numbers he knew might come in handy, though he had no intention of using them. He was leaving, but he wasn't stupid.

He stood next to the car that had been a part of his life longer than even the man upstairs and pulled his keys and wallet out. Careful not to scratch the paint, he put the keys on the hood and opened the worn wallet.

First he pulled out the tattered picture of him and his mother. It occurred to Dean that she might be the only person in the world that had accepted him and loved him unconditionally before he had a chance to fuck it up. Well, he'd managed to rip apart the last shreds of the family she'd made. He didn't really want that reminder anymore.

Mary's picture was placed next to the keys.

It was the work on only a moment for Dean to find the keys to a fully gassed up motorcycle. The leather jacket he found in a small closet near the door to the garage had held some biking gear. Helmets, jackets, and even some sort of weird saddle bags that could fit on the seat and hold stuff. Dean had made use of those last night – packing toiletries and such. Hey clean underwear was damned important.

John's jacket was resting on his freshly made bed. The dirty sheets were in the drier already and the room had been cleared out and cleaned. Dean wasn't going to leave so much as a stray crumb of dirt for Sam to worry about. Clean break. Get it?

He started up the bike and let the loud roar fill his ears as he strapped the helmet on. The headphones he'd plugged in his ears started with the first song his 'road trip' play list.

Carry On My Wayward Son… Yeah. Wayward just about covered it didn't it. Wasn't much of a son, couldn't keep a woman, and even got left by his fucking brother. Peace when he was done his lily white ass.

Dean walked the bike to the opened bay open and stopped. He took the amulet from around his neck and dropped it in the iron stove. It took a minute, but the edges of the metal started to melt.

Nothing of any sentimental value for Sam to use to search for him then. Not that the asshole would even try. The car and the picture of Mary might be possible items, but Sam wouldn't use the photo because it would have to be destroyed. The car was too big. Bam. Done.

And so it began. The Mark of Cain was in the world again, free to roam and without an anchor.

One brother killed by another. One literally and the other figuratively.

As the sound of the motorcycle faded in the cool morning air, the markings on the amulet wavered before giving up and melting into a meaningless pool of metal.

**S-S-S-S-S**

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your summons?" Crowley asked. The man in front of him was barely more than a shell. Demons could see souls as clearly as angels. How else would they know which souls were worth bargaining for?

"I want to make a deal," the elder Winchester stated much to the King of Hell's shock.

"Excuse me? The last deal I made one with you didn't end so well for me. Pardon me if I decline. But thank you for thinking of me," Crowley straightened his jacket preparing to leave, but the hunter laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You misunderstand me. I'm not offering my soul."

"And what else could I possibly want from you?"

"You have a campaign to win. I have a very particular set of skills you could use," was the only response.

"Ah. And what about the Moose?"

"What Moose?"

"I see. And in return?"

"In return, you make me untraceable. I want to hunt, and I want to do it without worry. I want funding so I can stay off the grid. And last, but not least – I want that jawbone," Dean said without emotion. Whatever had happened had broken the hunter. That much was clear.

"You want the jawbone, funding, and to be untraceable?" Crowley clarified.

"For starters."

"I don't do starters Dean. I do clear cut deals for the benefit of myself. What might you want in the future?"

"Metatron dead. Angels off my God damned planet, and other than that? I haven't decided. It's a toss-up between a bullet between my eyes, a whore in my bed, or a complete memory wipe."

For once Crowley kept his mouth closed. Dean had the Mark and without it, there was no way to kill Abbadon. On the other hand, the demon had seen plenty of people sell their souls for the sweet release of pain. The torture of Hell did not bother them – in fact many of them embraced the pain when the time came. Such wretches they were.

But for a hunter – the Righteous Man – to think of ending it all… Something was wrong in the order of the universe. Something that spoke of more than just the usual never ending fight for evil to win over good. Something had been thrown off kilter.

Normally, that would be a tick in the win column for him.

"What about your boyfriend?"

"Untraceable Crowley. From everyone. Remove his mark from my soul."

This was as unexpected as it was disturbing. Not because Dean Winchester wasn't a damned valuable weapon, but because things this good didn't come at such a small price.

"I make you untraceable, give you funds, find the jawbone, assist you in killing Metatron and in exchange you offer?"

"I offer to kill your detractors as needed and the only serious threat to your throne. I retain veto on your marks. Remove Cas' grace – don't forget. Do you want anything else?"

"I can't remove an angel's Grace, but I can hide you. And I'm sure I will be thinking of more I want, like yourself. So let's leave this little bargain open ended shall we?"

"You understand I'm only offering services here, not my soul – right?" the hunter's expressionless face was more than a little disconcerting to the demon. Not that everything was happy unicorn rainbows on his side of the proverbially pond, but when a constant changed… The world seemed to change in unexpected ways.

"Well, it'll be interesting to see what services you offer up next then," Crowley smirked.

Dean said nothing. What the hell? Dean was weapon, and he was dangerous. All the best weapons tended to be more than a little lethal to the person who wielded them.

"Lay one on me and let's get this show on the road," he motioned for the hunter to come closer.

What happened next was lightening quick. Crowley found himself slammed against the wall of this flea ridden motel room with Dean mother-fucking Winchester pressed against him from thigh to chest.

"Shut up Crowley," the hunter snarked before he kissed the King of Hell.

It wasn't like most kisses – simply a brush of lips to seal the deal. This was brutal and punishing. There was no pleasure in this contact, only fury. What exactly the hunter was enraged over would be fun finding out, but in the meantime, Crowley had a deal to complete.

He pulled his lips away and brushed a swift kiss to that strong jaw before settling into a bruising kiss on the nape of Dean's neck. It was the work of only a moment before a delightful bruise blossomed on the tender skin.

"And now you're hidden. My mark," Crowley waited for Dean to explode over the location and the method. If anything would send the man off, this would be it. Dancing around his homoerotic angel for years wasn't enough to bring out his inner queen, so he was unlikely to let this pass easily.

"I need some money, a cell phone with a way for us to stay in contact, and a list of your targets," was the only response.

Bloody fucking hell.

**S-S-S-S-S**

"Sam!" Cas yelled through the bunker. Sam closed his eyes for a moment. The last couple of weeks had been awful. Dean was… Dean. There just really wasn't a lot to say about that situation right now. It was Sam's hope that a few months of tough love would end with Dean learning his lesson about respecting boundaries and…

"Sam Winchester. Where are you?" bellowed the frantic voice of the angel.

"Right here," Sam snapped. Screw research for now. Maybe Dean should put his fair share of time in the library. Sam would have to talk to him about that.

The angel raced to the table; his face was pale, and his breathing labored.

"He's gone," Cas panted.

"Who's gone Cas?" Sam thought of all the possibilities. God or…

"Dean."

"Yeah, he went out a couple of hours ago," Sam stared at the angel with concern.

"My link to him has been clouded. I cannot feel his emotions nor can I find him," Cas almost yelled.

"Wait, you snoop on Dean's emotions?" the tall man asked.

"You are difficult to talk to Sam Winchester – I will say this slowly, so take notes if you must. Your brother, the man who you told was not your brother anymore, has left. He has magical help in obscuring my mark on him. His cell phone is in the Impala which is in the garage. There is a pot of melted metal I believe was his amulet and here," the angel handed over the dog-eared photo of Mary and Dean.

"This was on the hood of the Impala. Congratulations Sam Winchester. You're an only child now. How proud you must feel to finally be free of such a burden," Castiel, Angel of the Lord sneered at him.

"How can he hide? What…" Sam felt like a wall had just crashed down on him.

"There appears to be demonic influence. I would be able to tell more, but the magic is aimed at me specifically."

"He left?" Sam managed to say. "It was a fight Cas. I mean, yeah I was mostly serious about some of it, but I didn't want him to go…"

"Regardless of what you wanted, it is what you have wrought," Cas said before he flew away.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Three days later, the bodies started to fall. The demons opposing Crowley didn't know what had hit them. It took the King of Hell by surprise the first time he'd given Dean a task; the man was ruthless and almost inhuman when he fought. That would be the influence of being on the rack…

As the hunter dropped the last of nine demons that had tried to attack Crowley, he turned and asked the last question Crowley had expected…

"That's all?"

Oh, great things were afoot. Great things indeed.

**S-S-S-S-S**

**AN** – I was so upset after 9.13 this is what happened. I could write a bigger story, I just needed to get it out. Wanna see more?

Not brothers anymore? Fine. Fine - Dean ditches Baby, the Bunker, and his Angel. After calling Crowley, they strike a deal of sorts. He won't sell his soul to the demon, but maybe a soul isn't all he has of value these days. Crowley knows something's off, but while he works on figuring out what happened, he turns Dean into a BAFM weapon. A very hot, very focused BAFM *SPOILERS*


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_A man should never neglect his family for business. – Walt Disney_

**S-S-S-S-S**

Crowley had rarely been one to deny himself whatever indulgence he'd wanted in life, and he'd found absolutely no reason to start doing so since becoming a demon. Even as a newly minted crossroads demon, he'd been sure to keep himself in the lap of luxury. It was certainly easier to do when one could simply snap and have whatever their blackened heart desires laid out in front of them, often on a silver platter.

His current accommodations were only moderately adequate. The reason for this abominable downgrade was sitting across from Crowley cleaning a small cache of weapons for the second time while complaining about sulfur.

Some might find it out of character for the King of Hell to cater to a human, even one as powerful as Dean Winchester; those who did were simple minded. The fact that Crowley had been able to climb the corporate ladder of Hell's hierarchy was a testament to his ability at keeping an eye on the end game. Currently, keeping Dean comfortable and as close to happy as possible was in the demon's best interest.

To say nothing of the fact that the elder Winchester was an extremely interesting subject. The man had single-handedly thwarted Heaven and Hell at the same time. The man would claim he'd done it with help from any number of people including his angel and brother, but the truth was far more complex. The roles those two had played were important, no doubt; the fact remained that they were replaceable; Dean was not.

The vessel of Michael could have changed the course of events even if his brother had given in and allowed the Morning Star in. Crowley had spent ages thinking about the strategy of helping Lucifer or Dean. The end game, remember? The end was power, and Crowley wouldn't have as much if Lucifer was freed into the world.

That plan had tattered several times needing to be revised and revisited more than a needy whore. Every time he'd been able to bloody well set up a play that would keep Lucifer from winning, Dean would come up with some ill-thought out 'plan' so incredibly stupid that one was hard pressed to adjust course without being found out. The Winchesters would never know about the strings Crowley had pulled to make sure certain things lined up to help their cause. Crowley's cause.

And now, the man sitting across from him again held the key to the balance of power in Hell. If Dean decided to align himself with Abaddon, all would be lost. So it was in everyone's best interest to make sure Dean's good graces were kept.

Consequently, Crowley found himself in a moderately sized rural farmhouse holed up with Dean. It was warded and complete with warm, not hot of course, running water. The admittedly attractive martyr would feel guilty if his surroundings were too nice. Too long living hand to mouth in one filthy motel or another.

It was also more than vaguely frustrating to not have the full story. Part of Crowley's approach depended on knowing Deans motives; something happened that changed a vital part of the man and without that key bit of information, the demon couldn't tailor his approach.

"So, how's the boyfriend?" he tried.

"Have you found the jawbone yet?" Dean countered without looking up from his polishing cloth that was rubbing the barrel of his twelve gauge in what Crowley considered an indefinably obscene manner.

"If I had it, you'd have it Squirrel," he spat out. He was going to have to push a few buttons; That was extremely vexing. Pushing without knowing the outcome was dangerous.

Finally, Dean looked up and stared at Crowley. The eyes weren't dead exactly… Just different.

"Then look harder," Dean said and then pressed his full lips closed and put the gun down. The knife he picked up next caught the light and seemed to draw Crowley's attention.

"I have my best and brightest on it," he assured the hunter.

"Then your best aren't very good," the knife glittered with an unholy shine. Crowley had given Dean that weapon to help dispatch the targets. That traitorous bitch Ruby wasn't the only one with a demon killing blade. Crowley's was, naturally, much more elegant. Unfortunately, the man in front of him just complained about getting dried blood out of the inlaid metal work.

"What would you suggest, pussy cat?"

"They always say if you want something done right, you need to do it yourself," Dean suggested with a raised eyebrow. Crowley sighed and stood up.

"Fine. Anything to keep my handsome hunter happy. Toodles," Crowley smirked and removed himself all the way to the bottom of the world's oceans. They were dark and cold, which he could live with that if it weren't for the mind numbing sameness. It was as dull as Hell was when frozen over; if there was one thing Crowley could speak to, it was the conditions in Hell, frozen or not.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean sighed as the demon took his leave. The shithead wasn't trustworthy, but at least Dean could depend on him to react when provoked. Right now trust was something Dean didn't have a lot of. It had been almost a month since he'd taken the motorcycle and walked out of his old life. Well, out of the burning ruins of his life.

As with all things, his days had found a new pattern. Crowley had put them up in this old house and assured the hunter it was safe from prying eyes. Dean had made sure to keep his thoughts off Cas in case it called him to this safe haven.

And how screwed up was that? His current home, provided by a demon, was his safe haven? On the other hand, Crowley had turned out to be fairly good company. They'd spent hours playing cards, even going so far as to hit a couple of high roller tables in Vegas a week ago for shits and giggles.

One thing was for sure: playing Texas Hold 'em with a demon was entertaining as hell as long as you weren't up against him. Crowley made sure to cheat like a son of a bitch. Dean's cards would change in front of his eyes, and Crowley would be sure to make the river show the exact cards Dean needed. The men at the table had finally called it a night with disgust. The pot had been more than a year of hustling pool in smoky bars.

That night Crowley and Dean had stayed in a penthouse at The Venetian. Talk about swank – the hot water never ran out and the bed had wrapped him in a warm embrace the moment he laid down. The groan his weary body had forced from him was enough for the demon to make a comment about Dean needing to allow himself a little luxury every once in a while.

Honestly, when the mattress showed up the next night in the farm house… Well, Dean was willing to sleep on it even if it did come from the King of Hell. Seriously, the mattress was that good.

Sam would have loved how long the freakin'… Whatever.

Dean had become very good at forcing himself to not go there. When Sam had left for college, the pain had almost been overwhelming. It was like the other half of his soul had walked away; he'd been gutted in a way he'd never expected from somebody he'd trusted to have his back.

Look, no matter how fucked up it had been, it was really simple. Dean had been trained from birth that no matter what happened, no matter how badly they screwed up – Family stuck together. It took until the night Sam told him they couldn't be brothers that Dean got it.

He didn't need this. Dean was a damned good hunter, a pretty together guy, and didn't need the weight of a man who clearly wasn't worth his devotion. How many times had Sam screwed him over when they were together?

Telling himself they were a good team. Over and over making excuses covering for his baby brother; why he'd left, and why he'd accepted Dean was in Hell and hadn't lifted a finger. It was never Sam's fault, always something Dean had done to deserve it. Damn, he sounded like an abuse victim.

In the moment that Sam had sort of shrugged and walked out of the room, Dean had realized that he never really knew his brother. He knew who Sam was as a kid, and knew he was a strong hunter. Sam was smart, and could be deadly, but the man himself? Nope. Not even a clue what drove him.

Dean had always assumed it was the same fire that drove their Dad, even Dean himself. Turned out, Sam just wanted to be somebody else. Not a Winchester. Not Dean's brother.

And Dean had finally had enough. Something Sam had always misunderstood about his older brother… something nobody had ever really gotten was just how strong Dean was.

Did they all think his forty years in Hell had been a bad dream? Even Cas, who had seen him ripping the flesh from a sinner, assured Dean of his bright soul. As if being bright and shiny equaled weak and needy. Yeah, he had needed Sam, but mostly Dean just wanted to be needed. He needed purpose.

And now he had it.

It had taken these last few weeks to work out exactly who he was without his… without his old purpose. He was still able to save people, hunt things. And if the family business had gone from the Winchester brothers, to simply Dean Winchester - that was just what it was.

Standing up Dean cracked his neck. It was time he take what he wanted back. The man he had raised may still be in the bunker, but he wasn't Dean's only option for a hunting partner. Crowley might be good company, much to Dean's everlasting shock, but he wasn't a hunter. He was a salesman. Dean needed a warrior.

Walking out the front door, Dean checked the sky out of habit before pulling the helmet off the railing and buckling it on. He knew the perfect place to put his plan in action. The diner was about twenty miles away from the house and didn't seem to have too many regulars, just a lot of people coming and going.

He parked in back of the low building and did something he hadn't done in what felt like a lifetime.

"_Cas – I'm at Marietta Diner on Highway 41 in Marietta Georgia. I'm here for the next hour if you want to talk. Dean."_ Dean prayed. There wasn't much question about Cas showing up. The main question was if Cas would stay once the terms were laid out.

"Dean," the angel said from across the booth before Dean had even placed his order. See?

"Before you say anything else, one rule: do not, in any way mention what I don't want to talk about." The hunter looked the angel in the eye as he doodled on a napkin.

"We – I have been concerned," Cas, master of understatement, said in his rough voice.

"Yeah, I figured. I know you've got questions, but understand I'm not joking about what I said. Not going to talk or listen about it. Deal?" Dean tapped the table to get Cas' attention. There, on the napkin, was a perfectly drawn angel banishing sigil.

"Understood," was all Cas said with a terse nod of his head.

"Okay, ask your questions and let's get that crap out of the way, then we can get down to business."

"Are you safe?" was the first question. Dean was a little surprised, but on reflection he could understand why that would be on the top of Cas' list.

"Yes. You know what happened?" Dean pointed to a picture of pie and held up two fingers as the waitress walked up.

"I read S- I was worried so I may have overstepped a line in trying to obtain information." Ha! Cas totally went through Sam's head. About damn time somebody else got that special treatment.

"I'm sure that was pleasant," Dean said.

"It was not. I prefer your thoughts; they are less chaotic. Why can't I find you or hear you?" Cas' brow was furrowed deep.

"Afraid that's not as easy one to explain-" Dean started as Cas' eyes zeroed in on the mark Crowley had left. Damn, should have worn a collared shirt to cover up the hickey that never seemed to fade.

"A demon?" Cas' voice had taken on a new tone, and Dean knew he was losing control of the conversation. Crap.

"You ever seen anything like this?" Dean ignored the question and pulled his sleeve up enough to show the angel the mark that had been left on his forearm.

"The Mark of Cain. How did you acquire it?" Cas' entire body tensed.

"Was a little gift from the man himself," Dean rolled his eyes. "Amazingly enough, Cain's been a little closed mouth about the – uh… side effects."

"Why Dean?" was the only thing the angel asked.

"To kill Abaddon. Everything is about killing that bitch now," Dean shrugged like it was no big deal, but in fact he knew it could very well wind up being a monumentally stupid thing. The stupid Mark didn't hurt, just raised discolored skin on the surface. But inside, Dean felt changed.

"But Cain became a Knight of Hell," the question was left unspoken.

"Honestly? The guy didn't come off a knight of anything. Mostly he kept bees and cooked. I mean, if that's what this thing does, that actually sounds like torture of the boring kind," Dean joked. He decided to not mention the whole house lighting up with the screams of demons echoing through the night.

The recharged angel didn't seem like he was in a place to deal with that level of detail with an open mind.

"Dean, I would like your new phone number," Cas managed to get out before he was interrupted by a scoff from the man walking towards the booth.

"Sounds like your boyfriend is a little clingy Squirrel," Crowley smirked. For once Dean was thankful for Crowley's ability to show up at the exact wrong moment. Explaining to his angel why they wouldn't be exchanging numbers and braiding each other's hair wasn't something he was looking forward to. Best to use that Winchester classic of complete avoidance.

"Crowley," Cas said with as much venom as was possible for a being of light and love. "You should leave."

"Hello to you too Sparkles. Dean, we have business to attend to. Now." Crowley raised an eyebrow. Dean nodded; time to spill some more demon blood. Good times.

"Cas, I'll see you later," he said as he stood up and tossed a couple of bills on the table next to his uneaten pie.

"Dean, Sam and I –"

"I warned you. _Leave_," Dean said with a low voice. Asshole angels not listening. Cas disappeared, and Crowley snorted.

"Obedient little thing isn't he, your little pussy cat?"

"Shut up Crowley," Dean shrugged his jacket on and motioned to the door. "Let's get it over with; I have plans tonight."

"What plans?"

"Me, my good friend alcohol, and maybe some porn or a hooker. Haven't decided on the last part," Dean walked across the parking lot and hopped on the bike. To his surprise, Crowley threw his leg over the seat behind Dean.

"I can do you one better," Crowley said in his ear. "I know a place you can get drunker than a sailor and have some live action entertainment."

Dean shivered because yeah… That did sound better. Plus, motel porn tended to be repeats after a while and hookers could be hit or miss.

The night was looking up. But first, time to go kill.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Castiel frowned. When Dean had told him to leave, his entire body had felt punched into another dimension. Dean had banished him with only a word. It seemed like that Mark was more than a simple Scarlett Letter of sorts.

Luckily, the angel had learned a thing or two from his hunters. There was a small tracking object he had been carrying for the past few weeks that was now hidden under the seat of the motorcycle that had sat in the garage of the Bunker. Once Cas recovered from his banishment, it was the work of only a few moments to fly to Dean's location.

The sight that greeted Cas was shocking to say the least. The hunter stood in the center of a circle of black eyed demons. His eyes were hooded, and his feet were slightly spread in the manner of a warrior preparing for an attack. Cas remained hidden, but pulled his sword in case he needed to help his human.

"The one in the center is your mark Dean," Crowley called from where he was leaning against the wall. None of the demons even looked at the King of Hell, which Cas found odd. There were more than enough demons to spread around.

Even Heaven was watching the power struggle between Crowley and Abaddon, so this little encounter was not exactly shocking. What was startling was the tense nod from Dean.

"Ah, the King's bitch gets ordered around, how cute," one demon snarked.

"I bet Crowley rewards you real well – do you like to bend over or lay down?"

Castiel felt the disbelief course through him. He'd heard rumors of Crowley having a new weapon, but never had it occurred to them it might be his hunter.

"So Dean, how does your baby brother feel about you taking it up the a-." The sentence was never finished as Dean pulled a sheathed knife from his leg holster and made an upward slash that gutted the demon in one smooth movement. Nothing about his bearing had changed; his attention simply shifted to the next closest target.

"You'll pay for that hunter," the one Crowley had pointed out pulled a gun out from his waistband. Dean didn't even flinch. "You just signed a death warrant on Lucifer's Vessel."

If the demon thought Dean would react, he was sorely disappointed. The man didn't even roll his shoulders like Cas had seen him do numerous times as he prepared for an attack. In the time it took for the demon to blink, the green eyed man had brought his long blade up and arced a strong slice that took his target's head off in a clean cut. Without pausing, Dean let his momentum turn him around and the blade continued on its path of destruction.

The demon that had been approaching from behind him hissed in pained shock as the blade plunged through his vessel. Even Castiel had to replay the moment in his mind to follow the simple perfect precision of that attack.

"You're going to regret that Winchester – Abaddon will make sure your brother is six feet under for your treason," the black eyed demon sneered.

"She's welcome to try," Dean tossed back as he threw the blade that landed in the center of the threatening demon's forehead. The room filled with smoke as the remaining demons fled the room.

As Dean walked over to the fallen vessel of a blonde woman, Dean pulled his blade out of her skull. He bent down and closed her eyes as Crowley started to give a little golf clap.

"Well done, but a few escaped. Samantha might need a little heads up right about now. We can stop in before dinner," Crowley said looking around the empty room after checking his watch.

"No. Let's just go," Dean wiped the blood off on the shirt of one the fallen.

"Well well, never thought I'd see the day you'd toss Moose to the wolves. Welcome to the dark side mate," Crowley threw an arm around Dean's shoulders.

"Not my problem. Either he knows how to protect himself like a hunter should or he doesn't. His choice. But, Cas'll tell him anyway," Dean shrugged the arm off his shoulders.

"Your boyfriend isn't here love."

Dean looked up and his eyes landed on the exact spot Castiel had hidden himself. The angel felt his corporal body manifest without his consent.

"Stop following me Castiel. I'm not Heaven's concern; I would hate to think I'm being spied on," Dean's voice didn't waver, and Cas nodded without saying a word and fled.

He took flight and found himself on the top of a mountain in the Alps. Something had happened to his hunter – it wasn't a spell or possession, but Dean was changed at a very basic level. The churning in his Grace told Cas that it had something to do with Sam and the Mark of Cain.

Sam's carelessly cruel words and thoughtless rejection of his brother might have been the catalyst, but this… This wasn't the work of anything Holy.

And everybody, even angels, knew that never equaled anything pleasant.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Crowley nodded to himself as his weapon frowned. Seemed like there were some new powers coming out. Now the main concern was identifying and channeling them in the most productive way. Well, productive for Crowley.

Dean Winchester was phenomenal but, there were other issues the King of Hell was running into with that one. It honestly surprised Crowley that Dean was declining to warn his baby brother about the direct threat; seemed the demon had underestimated the severity of the split between the two.

The other little problem Crowley had run into was the fact that Dean was actually likeable when he wasn't actively trying to kill his person. They had wicked good fun in Vegas; much to Crowley's disgust, he found himself wondering what the hunter might enjoy next.

Well, aside from Abaddon's blood flowing across the floor from her lifeless corpse.

Maybe a delightful little brewery or distillery. Possibly a really mouthwatering steak would help get Dean to open up about…

Crowley mentally smacked himself. He was planning a bloody date with the twat; this had to stop. One did not date ones weapons. Even if they were exceedingly good at demonic card sharping.

Best to stick to tried and true.

"I found a delightful little strip club for our entertainment tonight. I've generously decided to spring for a private dance or two if you find a birdie," Crowley forced a smile. Nothing wrong with his weapon having a bit of debauchery.

Nothing at all.

**S-S-S-S-S**

**AN:**

So, due to great demand I wrote some more. It took a few days to get a story arc worthy of Dean manning up. So just a few warnings – I love HEA (Happily ever after), but this isn't my standard love smut story. As far as spoilers, I'm going to create some things here which *might* line up with season 9, but nothing beyond 9.13 is cannon on purpose.

Also, no idea how long this story will turn out to be or a schedule for updating. I will say that feedback help – I was bowled over and even wrote this update before one for my other story (which should have been first really).

And did you spot the movie quote in the last chapter. As you can see below, I footnote a TON, but I didn't for the last chapter (thought it was going to be a one off), so I'm wondering if anybody caught it.

Morning Star – Lucifer's name in Heaven

Marietta Diner – the place is plated with reflective mirror like plating and looks like a freaking Art Deco work of art. Also, great food.

Scarlett Letter – a letter forced to be worn on clothing to mark a person of a crime (as per the book of the same name: adultery)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake. - Napoleon_

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam slammed the book closed and collapsed back into the chair. No information in any of the lore on the Mark of Cain. Actually, not just a lack of information; there was no mention of the Mark in any way at all aside from the Biblical story.

And Cas was next to no help. He'd come back and told Sam to start researching the Mark and refused to even tell Sam why the sudden interest. It didn't take a genius to figure out the angel had spoken to Dean. Of course, when asked directly, Cas had just frowned and flown off.

It had taken a full week until Sam had finally gotten more than a sentence out of Cas. Yeah, that hadn't been pleasant.

"_Cas, is Dean hurt or in trouble?" Sam had almost tripped over his words trying to get them out before the angel left. Again._

"_Why do you keep asking Sam?" was the only response._

"_I'm worried. Dean doesn't just leave like that with no word or note or something," the pressure in Sam's chest actually hurt when he thought about what could have happened to his brother._

"_I think you are mistaken. Dean has walked away from many people in his life; he just never walked away from his brother. Of course, now he does not have one does he?" It was scary to be on the receiving end of Cas' wrath._

"_I didn't want him to leave!"_

"_You wanted him to stay here and hunt with you while you withheld your brotherly affection from him as punishment for his actions. The one thing that would ruin him – you planned on holding it over his head to torture him," Cas shook his head in disgust._

"_That wasn't – Look, he made decisions I didn't want made for me!" Sam rejoined. Dean wasn't exactly completely innocent._

"_That is right. I forgot Dean held your life above his own as a thing of value, to be cherished and defended at all costs. What a burden that must have been on you. Being loved so much is, after all, the worst of the human condition," Castiel seemed to get bigger while not actually changing in any way Sam could see._

"_I-," Sam couldn't even get another word out._

"_Cease speaking and listen for once you vain human. Dean Winchester followed the will of God in his love for you. He obeyed faithfully and selflessly at his own peril repeatedly. He is held in the highest regard by archangel and demons alike," the lights flickered as Castiel's cheeks turned a deep red._

"_And you? He altered the course of history to keep you from harm. No other human can claim to have thwarted the Host or Hell separately, much less together. But he did. For you. And you act as if you are the offended party," Castiel's deep voice took on a vibrating resonance as he spoke, each word crashed against Sam's whole body louder than the last._

"_You dared to reject devotion from the Righteous Man, Michael's vessel. You. The chosen of the Morning Star to destroy the Earth and humanity. You who willing partook of the body of a demon. You would drink the blood of a demon, but not the blood of Christ to beg forgiveness. – You have the impudence to dare inflict pain on him for his love of you?" For a moment… For just a glorious moment Sam saw the shadow of black wings springing from Cas' back._

"_We will not discuss this again. You will think on this, but your thoughts are of no interest to me," the angel pulled himself together._

"_I'm sor-," Sam tried to apologize. It – he'd never thought about in those terms. The tightness in his chest felt like a weight trying to crush him._

"_I do not care for your feelings on the matter. You will not ask me about him again," Cas smoothed his coat down before turning his fierce blue eyes to stare at Sam without blinking._

"_Do not summon me again unless you have the information you are researching for me. I am not your personal angel to be called down at your whim." Cas frowned as he tilted his head. _

"_In answer to the thoughts running through your head, yes. Yes, I answered Dean's prayers when he needed me. I am an angel of the Lord – I am drawn to those souls touched by the divine, the righteous. You? In the rest of your life, I doubt your soul could ever shine with a fraction of the brightness of Dean Winchester's," Cas seemed to have finally said his peace. There was almost complete silence as the only sound was Sam's heavy breathing._

_Sam nodded his head. That was loud and clear; while Sam had always suspected Cas was mostly there for Dean, it was rather painful to hear the angel's real opinion of him. It was lower than Sam had guessed._

"_I'm going to put some calls out to some colleges and a hunter with connections in the Vatican in the morning. If you could possibly, um… help convince him to help get the information for us. With your mojo or whatever? I mean, it just might help. But I'll do my best of course," Sam put his elbows on his knees and bent over to brace his head in his hands. He was a fucking idiot. In just so many ways._

"_Yes, you are," was all Cas said before the rustle of feathers announced his departure. _

Yeah. So that was the sum of Sam's life now. He'd gotten exactly what he asked for – no brother; it had honestly never occurred to him that Dean would decide to leave. To not hunt together. He just hadn't thought about how much their lives had intertwined over time; now he found himself in the less than enviable position of finding out who their friends would side with. Like a divorce almost.

It seemed like when Sam finally got to make his own choices, he screwed stuff up royally.

Which was why the youngest Winchester sat in front of his laptop going over data and emails he'd collected trying to get information together for Cas – it was the only way he knew to try and make up for his transgressions.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Tapping his foot on the bare floor, Crowley felt his patience quickly running out. He was bored; it was the first time in his recent memory he could remember not having his plate so full it sometimes spilled over.

"Come on, let's go make some trouble somewhere," the demon stood up as he tried to get Dean to get out of the house. Again. Who knew the man was such a home body.

"Where you wanna' go man?" Dean asked.

Well, bloody hell. It may have been a good idea to have thought this out further so he'd have answers to obvious questions like that. He was losing it when it came to Dean Winchester. The sodding twat was getting under Crowley's skin.

"I know a place in Boston that has a forgotten storeroom from Prohibition that has an excellent assortment of whiskey if you're interested," Crowley played the one card he was positive would work.

"Is it warded?" Dean asked.

And that right there was an excellent example of why Crowley felt thrown off his game with this human. It was a perfectly valid question; they were, after all, in the middle of a fight for control of Hell. But Dean wasn't the one who usually thought about those sorts of things. He was the one who started putting his shoes on at the word whiskey and never worried about backup plans.

Until now it seemed.

Now… Now his weapon was thinking like a general in war. Everything was about the goals and progress to the end. More vexing? Crowley wasn't completely certain of Dean's new goals. The hunter was most certainly not throwing his lot in with Hell in general, and that left the question of what he wanted.

"It's not bloody warded; nobody even remembers it exists," Crowley growled.

"You remembered – somebody else might as well," Dean pointed out.

"Fine, then bring your arsenal. Doesn't matter where we fight the as long as there are adequate libations," Crowley drawled.

"I understood about half of that. Whatever man, let's roll," Dean picked up a bag that he'd placed his weapons in after cleaning them last. The man was nothing if not thorough in his careful stewardship of the various blades and guns he relied on. Crowley liked to feel he was taking such care of his most valuable weapon as well.

If only he could figure out what the smegging hell Dean needed to feel well taken care of. It wouldn't do at all to lose him as an ally or an asset in this skirmish. Much to Crowley's displeasure, every time he had an errand for Dean, the man would pause to think about if he would comply. That damned phrasing in the contract about Dean being able to veto an assignment – Crowley was getting lazy to have let that rubbish through.

Plus, against all odds, Crowley found himself drawn to the well-built man.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean looked around the small room. The smell of dust was heavy, but the walls were lined with wooden racks holding bottles of hooch. This forgotten safe room for liquor during the dark days of prohibition was like a dream.

As Crowley lit more candles, small details began to take shape. The walls were old plaster that seemed to be holding up well considering this place must have been sealed for eighty years or more. In the center stood a wood table with several types of glasses. Wine, champagne, and shot were the only ones Dean knew for sure off hand.

On the far wall was what remained of a doorway. The lathe and plaster showed this was truly a lost space. Not a locked door, or an unused musty storage room, but a true relic in the great history of alcohol.

Dean picked up a bottle and wiped the grime from the label. A Brandy of some kind… Just rotted wine in his opinion. The next bottle was a little more interesting as it contained some old school Tequila. The worm was floating in a couple of pieces in the bottom of the liquid – well, that was certainly less than appealing.

There were also wines that that Sam – whatever. Stupid girly wines.

A sneeze worked its way through Dean's nose as Crowley kicked up even more dust pulling bottle after bottle and putting them on the table. Dean took a seat and took a closer look. Now, he knew he wasn't an expert on fancy drinks, but Dean knew a lot about how much they cost. He'd sip his cheap whiskey and wish he could afford the nice bottles that were way too pricey for the credit cards he used fraudulently.

The whiskeys… Dean had never even heard of most of them. Aisla T'Orten, Glevavon, and Macallan where the first to be popped. Dean had heard of Macallan, but thought it was insane to spend that kind of money on alcohol. Frankly, even in his dreams, the Macallan whiskeys were too rich for his blood.

Crowley saw his gaze and opened the bottle and poured a splash in their suspiciously clean shot glasses.

"Bottoms up mate," the demon said before taking a small sip. The way his eyes closed and he licked his lips was a little over kill in Dean's opinion, but it did smell good.

After his first sip, Dean decided his soul might not be too much to pay for a lifetime supply of the fabled pricey whiskey. However, if Crowley wanted to bring him such delights without paying such a high price, Dean wasn't fool enough to turn it down.

Damn slight better than the PBR they usually sucked down in crappy third rate motels. They cracked open bottle after bottle; some were dismissed, some were relieved of quite a bit of their amber liquid goodness.

The air had grown warm with the candles that burned for light and the body heat of two people in such a small space. Well, one person and one demon. Whatever. Plus, Dean may have had a little too much to drink.

A lot of a little too much. A lot much?

"Is a lot much a word?" Dean asked aloud.

"It's several words," Crowley replied as he continued to sip from the latest bottle.

"Right, but it is a real word?"

"You're sloshed darling," the demon gave a low laugh.

"Nah, I'm fluid. Flowy," Dean smiled for what felt like the first time in a lifetime.

"I wanna' do something," Dean stood up. Tried to stand up. Dean mostly leaned against a wall and scooted himself into a vaguely upright position. He might not be in any shape to drive, but he wasn't drunk. Even he knew whiskey was for sipping, not getting wasted.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Dunno. Maybe we could go steal a car?" Dean needed a set of wheels with a roof. The rain sucked when he had to transport his guns and crap. He spent an ass load of time making sure they were dry before putting them up.

"While I support such deviant behavior in general, might I suggest something with a little more sophistication; something that won't get you pulled over immediately? Maybe something with a little more panache than a random sedan," the demon asked.

"Umm – sure?" Dean wasn't completely sure what Crowley had just said, but he sounded like he had an idea. His ideas had been a lot of fun lately.

And really, that was the main problem. When Dean was sober, he could hold on to the knowledge that nothing the King of Hell did was for anyone's benefit but his own. In the clear light of day, it was easy to shrug off comments that tempted Dean to do stupid things, trade things.

"How about I get you a car of your very own? Whatever gas guzzler you want in fact," he offered with the face of an innocent. That must have been why Dean found himself nodding.

"Any car I want?"

"In return, you tell me what happened between you and Samantha?" the demon finished. Dean about choked. No. That wasn't going to be on the table. Not now, not ever. And why did he even want to know about their fight anyway?

"Might have been good whiskey dude, but not good enough for that."

"I most strongly object to the use of the mere word 'good' in relation to this fine bottle of single malt. Mind your mouth next time you describe this juice of the Gods. Well, the Pagan Gods anyway. Not that sod upstairs," the demon rolled his eyes.

"Never mind – I'm too trashed to do this," Dean frowned and shook his head. The demon leaned over and tapped his head. The cool breeze that washed the fuzzy warm drunkenness was refreshing, but it also meant that comforting cocoon of thoughtlessness was gone.

"I apologize. Why don't we talk about your boyfriend then? What's going on between the two of you wacky kids?" he almost purred.

It could have been an innocent suggestion, but the light of curiosity was plain in the demon's eyes.

Rarely did Crowley make mistakes; it was one of his defining features. But to make two so close together… Dean was sober now and could think things through; that wasn't in Crowley's best interest. Plus, the hunter now knew two bargaining chips to use if he needed something from the demon.

"Try again?" Dean suggested.

Crowley tapped his finger against his chin in thought. Dean could do without a car, but he had a feeling Crowley was feeling the balance of power in their arrangement was leaning too far towards Dean. Normally, the hunter had back-up, but not now.

Cas would come if needed, but he would not back any plays Dean made in regards to the whole helping Crowley thing. And Sam… well, that wasn't happening. Ever. So really, Dean needed the demon as an ally for the time being.

"I could use a little help collecting on a debt owed to me by a rather uncooperative costumer," the King of Hell replied. "A little leverage you might say."

"You want me to rough somebody up in return for a car?" Dean knew he was missing something. Why would he be needed for beating the crap out of somebody? "Release the hounds man. I'm not really hired muscle."

"It's rather sticky. The afore mentioned satisfied customer seems to have barricaded himself in a neatly protected building. Salt, wards, the whole nine. So, if a human could walk in and bring him out, I could do the rest."

"The guy got his soul's worth?" Dean asked. He really didn't know why he asked; he just needed to stall for time while he thought things through. He wasn't thrilled about helping in the collection of a soul, but he also understood the value of keeping ones word. You couldn't screw Hell over – well, unless your last name was Winchester.

"All the money he could ever want and more. No children and his lovely wife who regularly bangs her yoga instructor will be well taking care of. The mistress he keeps has likewise been more than compensated for her time," Crowley answered.

"Fine. I want a Dodge Challenger Hellcat, phantom black. And I'll bring your 'customer' outside to discuss his late payment," Dean knew he should feel dirtier than he did. He'd just agreed to send a soul to the place he'd been tortured for forty years. But he'd gone to save someone and had only gained comfort in knowing his brother was safe.

This guy? His guy didn't value his soul; Dean was finding it difficult to value it when it was so easily bargained away for material wealth.

"A Hellcat? Why Dean, is that to match my Hell Hounds?" Crowley smirked.

"It would run over your Hell Hounds," Dean sneered. Rarely did modern auto makers even try to capture the glory days of steel and power, but lately… It started with Mustangs. Never too far from their roots, but never as close as they were right now. Then the Camaro came roaring back. Literally. Never Dean's favorite, but an amazing work of engineering. Suddenly you had the Challenger and the Charger, and oh sweet Jesus the new Corvette was a wet dream. Only 440 horsepower though, such a shame for such a beautiful design. Drop a HEMI in it with some force induction cooling though… And for the exotic feel there was always the Viper. Not his personal speed.

Nah – raw power combined with clean lines.

"Sounds like we've reached a bargain," Crowley's mouth turned up in the corner.

"Do we really have to kiss? I mean, can't we just say deal and each keep our word?" Dean cringed at how whiny he sounded. It was just a kiss; Dean had kissed tons of women. Of course, the fact remained that he'd never kissed any man but Crowley. And kissing the demon was…

The whole thing might have been easier to ignore if the kiss they'd sealed the last deal with hadn't been… Fuck. It had been hot. Not that Dean got off thinking about it or anything, but it wasn't terrible. Which led to some questions he wasn't in the mood to think about.

Questions like if kissing Crowley wasn't awful, what would kissing a man he actually liked be like? A man like his angel. And of course that opened up the whole can of worms about how Cas would feel about kissing Dean.

On the other hand, if Dean wanted to test a couple of urges out, Crowley had made it clear he was more than willing; that was more than mildly terrifying.

Gah – screw it. Dean wasn't even all that curious. It was just the whole dry spell thing that was getting to him.

"Are you suggesting that you trust a demon to keep his word without a sealed contract?" Crowley gave a low chuckle.

"Whatever freak. Just come kiss me and let's get this over with," Dean scowled.

"I think you need to come kiss me," the demon grinned. He was just doing this to be difficult. Dean knew this was more about power than the act. Stupid demons.

"Freak," the hunter muttered again. He walked over and ghosted his lips across the King of Hell's. It was so quick he barely registered they'd actually touched. Bam – done!

"Not so fast Peaches. Intent is what seals the deal. You intended to skip the kiss, so…" Crowley shrugged as if he was just the bearer of bad news. Dean tried to remember if it was okay to kill the messenger if they were pains in the ass.

"Fine. Asshole," Dean added before leaning in and pressing his mouth to the demon's again.

This was what Dean had been trying to avoid. The feeling of warm lips under his own – the urge to wrap a willing body in his arms and feel a connection. The surge of want that spiked through his body. A body that appeared to not care at all the gender or demonic persuasion of the other person.

His traitorous tongue licked the seam of Crowley's mouth; a deep breath came out when the other man's mouth opened and their tongues tangled together. It really shouldn't feel so damned good. And the guilt that twirled around in his gut shouldn't be so easy to ignore.

In all kisses, there is the smallest of movements that signals the end. When Dean felt that shift from Crowley, his hand snaked up and roughly grabbed the back of the demon's neck to hold him still. To force him to submit to Dean's desire to continue the kiss.

There was more than one way to have power and control. Dean had so little of either lately, he was going to take what he could right now.

The kiss wasn't gentle; it was a battle. It wasn't until a small noise from deep in the chest of the man under him that Dean snapped out of it. He was kissing a demon – this was how Sam started with that Ruby bitch.

Whatever – Dean pulled away without warning and turned away. Cas should have been the one he tried kisses out on. Maybe. Or maybe Dean really needed to find a solid female hunter who knew the score when it came to dating a target like Dean.

Or maybe Dean needed to just push the whole thing deep down in the dark like every other mistake he'd ever made, and make due with Rosie Palm and her five sisters.

Crap – no more deals with Crowley. Dean had enough to deal with without a semi-expected gay freak-out. Crowley had been right about one thing – Dean was a complete hedonist and took pleasure where he found it. The only thing that was really a surprise was how long it took the hunter to wonder about the pleasure that a male body could supply.

Damn it.

**S-S-S-S-S**

**AN:**

**Aisla T'Orten** is a 105 year old aged whiskey ($1.4 million/bottle)

**1926 Macallan Fine and Rare whiskey** (75k/bottle)

**Glenavon Special Liqueur Whisky** – Whiskey from this distiller comes from pre-1850's when it closed down.

**Dodge Challenger Hellcat** – starting in 2015 Dodge created this orgasm – fastest production car ever created (NHRA rated WITHOUT drags so suck it haters) with 707 horsepower over the hood. Put drag racing tires on this car and you have 10.8 seconds to a ¼ mile (NHRA rated). To put that in prospective: In Fast and Furious (2001) Vin Diesel asked for a ten second car – that would have to have been made in a shop and customized. Dodge created this in a production model.

Btw – it's so fucking powerful it has industrial diamond embedded washers to clamp the crankshaft – normally used steel wouldn't hold against the pressure.

Yes, I'm a gearhead. No, I don't own a Hellcat. Yes, I want one. If you'd like to trade writing services for a Hellcat, I'm yours.

**Crap – footnoting my footnotes. **NHRA** – National Hot Rod Association. And I was serious about it being an orgasm. Standing next to it while idling – it's like standing next to a massive vibrator that's outside your body. And it sounds like sex. I may have a problem.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_That which does not kill us makes us stronger – Fredrick Neitzsche_

**S-S-S-S-S**

They pulled up in front of the graveyard. As Dean cut the engine to his new car, Crowley scanned the quiet in front of them. They were scheduled to interrupt some lackeys of Abaddon in a few minutes. The bitch wanted some bones of a virgin or something Crowley couldn't be knackered to remember. All he could think about right now was how very disturbing Dean Winchester was when he was in a car he 'loved'.

Crowley's first twinge of unease had come as Dean had picked this one out. His hands had caressed the hood, the bumper, and the roof like he was an old lover coming back to see the light of his life. Then the moan of appreciation as the hunter slid into the leather seats. Crowley scrubbed his brain.

It had to be just him – surely the man didn't have an automobile fetish?

"We'll be right back Love," Dean said as he patted the dashboard. That was another thing; the car had a name.

"I doubt your vehicle cares when you return Dean. I, on the other hand, have an appointment with several of Abaddon's helper elves in a few minutes. Can we postpone this disgusting display of idol worship until after you've dispatched them?" Crowley would admit he was a little jealous of the car.

"Love, he didn't mean that – Crowley's just got a stick shoved up his ass," Dean all but purred. His hands caressed the wheel; the demon grunted and got out. If Dean needed private time to tell his car goodbye… Well, that wasn't something Crowley wanted to be a part of. Now, if Dean Winchester wanted to pet Crowley's body like that…

Dean had been excited for this little soirée all week. He'd been practicing new powers; it started with little pushes of power to move a cup or stir the air. Sometimes, Dean would talk about how to separate a demon from its host, but Crowley generally thought that was a waste of time. A blade would do the job and leave no room for doubt that the demon was dead.

"You Limey bastard – if you slam her doors again, we'll go a round – got it?" Dean actually looked upset.

"Of course," the King of Hell didn't even bother trying to hide when he rolled his eyes. Maybe this was mistaken affection since Sam was out of the picture? Had Dean been this obsessive over that old black car?

The bickering continued as they strolled through the graveyard. It always amazed Crowley how very few of these were consecrated. In retrospect, they should have kept their conversation to an absolute minimum and lowered their voices.

The attack came from behind, which made the two of them dimwitted as best for walking right past the blighters. It was only five this time, but by the time Crowley became aware of the nature of the attack, Dean had already ended one of them. Crowley needed constant vigilance in this damned battle for the throne to Hell.

Dean killing Abaddon's demons? Excellent. Dean 'trying something new' while being attacked by said demons? Not Excellent.

The hunter held his hand up and slowly closed his long fingers towards his palm as if he was trying to grip something. The strangled sounds from the remaining demons was enough to give Crowley pause. There was nothing he could see, but clearly Dean was doing something that was messing with these buggers without touching.

As long as that little power was held in reserve for Crowley's enemies, it was useful. The fact that Dean wasn't bound beyond this mission? That was worrisome.

Mouths opened and black smoke poured out from the vessels. It roiled and tried to leave, but somehow Dean was holding it there. Somehow, the hunter had figured out not just a way to banish from a vessel, but to bind them in true form as well.

With a little grunt in the back of his throat, Dean released the smoke. On the ground were three unconscious vessels, one dead, and a fifth looking for all the world like it was trying to crawl away or crawl out of the vessel.

"Just kill it and let's move on," Crowley managed to sound both bored and exasperated.

"Nah, let's have a little fun. That was too easy," Dean grinned and pulled a knife from his leg sheath and tossed it towards the demon.

"Dean, you're a moron," the King of Hell growled. His weapon was taking unnecessary risks right now, but there wasn't much chance of stopping him without a causing a rift between them. The rift wouldn't help Crowley's goals, and honestly the risk wasn't that high.

Watching the two of them circle with their knives drawn may have been entertaining, but it wasn't how Crowley wanted to pass the evening. He'd found an excellent pool hall dive for Dean to shoot some pool. The hunter had complained a few days ago that he missed hustling pool. While he didn't need the money, Dean still enjoyed the challenge.

"Come on dude," Dean taunted the demon. "You have to at least try."

The fight became a little more intense, blocks and slashes, but it was the impact of hitting the ground that caused Dean to lose his blade.

"Dean-" Crowley had started to move, but before he had taken even a few steps the demon killing blade had flown back into Dean's hand and was plunged into the demon's side.

Well well well. It seemed Mr. Winchester had found yet another little perk of getting that Mark. Interesting.

"Whoa – did you see that?" Dean asked excitedly as he pushed the body off him.

"I did. Very good Dean; you managed to not die in a stupid fashion," Crowley was not pleased. Now that the danger was past, they needed to have a little talk.

"Come on, that was awesome!" Dean grinned. Such a child sometimes – and Crowley would never admit how attractive it made the hunter to grin with such joy.

"You should have killed them all. The ones that escaped are just going to get new vessels. That isn't helpful."

"Yeah, I had an idea about that. So, I figured after I pushed Cas away, that I might be able to do it with demons. But, I was wondering how to kill them in the smoke form. You think the knife might work?" Dean looked at the dirty blade in his hand and reached down to wipe it on the shirt of the dead vessel.

"Just kill them," Crowley wasn't comfortable talking about their smoke form. It wouldn't do to pass that kind of information to a hunter, regardless if said hunter was currently working for Crowley or not.

"I'm not going to kill vessels if I don't have to," Dean's voice hardened. Of course the hunter would take umbrage at harming a stupid vessel.

"That doesn't help me," Crowley knew the moment the words left his mouth it was the wrong thing to say. The balance of power with Dean was uneasy at the best of times. They were both aware that their agreement was more a mutually beneficial arrangement that was, in no way, permanent.

"Then uphold your part of the bargain and get the jaw," Dean snarled.

Crowley scowled; he waved his hand and three of his own lackeys showed up.

"Update on the item I sent you for?" Crowley demanded.

"The tracking spells are taking more time than usual, but we're closing in," the middle one wearing a pretty blond replied.

"I expected it to have been recovered by now. I'm disappointed boys," the King of Hell stared at the demons. They were some of his more useful minions; it would be a shame to waste them.

"This is your best?" Dean asked with obvious contempt in his voice. Crowley mentally rolled his eyes. The elder Winchester just never knew when to keep his gorgeous mouth shut.

"Oh, the King's pet speaks!" the shorter one laughed. Idiot.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Seriously?

Dean knew most of Crowley's demons were dumbasses, but this was… just beyond stupid. Dean was a hunter – he killed things like that demon for less than implying Crowley was Dean's master or some shit.

"Oh, how very well trained Crowley has you," the bitch in the middle walked right up to Dean.

He might have been able to let that pass. After all, Crowley was needed to get that damned jaw. Allowances could be made for…

The demon's hand reached around and grabbed Dean's ass.

"Wanna' find out what Crowley has me doing?" Dean grabbed the demon's wrist. "It involves a lot of grunting, fluids, and writhing."

"Yeah?" the demon asked as she stepped forward and pressed herself against Dean.

Dean twisted the wrist around and, in a clean move, swung the demon around pressing her back to Dean's front. As she tried to wriggle away, he twisted her arm up more to stop her.

Well, the arm thing and the blade he brought up to her throat. One of those stopped the demon cold.

"See, this is the grunting," Dean pulled further on the twisted arm causing the demon to grunt.

"And this is the fluid," Dean traced the blade along her cheek drawing blood.

"And this… This is the writhing," Dean used his mojo to twist the demon inside its vessel. The demon twitched a few times and slowly fell to the floor having lost control of the body, but not yet allowed to escape.

"Now…" Dean said turning to Crowley.

"Uphold your part of the bargain and get the jaw. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm here for you to order around. Remember? I can decline any order you give me – that was part of our deal."

Crowley looked at him and gave the barest of nods. Dean nodded back and looked down at the demon at his feet.

"You mind if I try something?" he asked.

"By all means," Crowley said graciously.

Dean concentrated and pushed the demon from the poor woman it had taken over. She was going to wake up with a hell of a black eye and sore as fuck, but at least she'd be waking up. The demon on the other hand…

As the cloud of smoke left the vessel's mouth, Dean cut through it with his demon blade. It crackled with arc of red energy before abruptly dissipating.

As one, the remaining demons turned to look at Crowley, clearly expecting Dean to be punished.

"I suggest you find the jaw bone boys. My pet isn't well trained," the King shrugged. They just stood there with identical looks of disbelief.

"Do you think they need more examples about what we go in private?" Dean nodded towards the remaining demons and grinned at the King of Hell. Crowley kinda' got Dean's sense of humor more than Sam or Cas, which was why he was positive Crowley would pick up the thread.

"I'd rather not kiss and tell love," Crowley made a shooing motion to the slack jaws demons; they didn't wait around.

"Well, that was interesting," Dean checked the pulse of the woman on the floor. She would be alright, but she wasn't going to be feeling great when she came around. He smoothed her skirt down modestly and positioned her limbs as carefully as possible.

"You know that little exchange is going to spread far and wide? I assure you – your status as my assassin concubine is now firmly established. I hope your boyfriend isn't the jealous type," Crowley poked around the gravestone the demons had been hiding around.

"I like to think I've sealed by status as a badass motherfucker that most certainly isn't the bottom in your imagined sex scenes with me," Dean chucked at Crowley's expression.

"Well, my pet – looks like you've been holding out. When did you learn about topping, hm?" Crowley scoffed as he stalked over to the hunter.

"Ya' know, here and there," Dean teased back. He was in an amazing mood. He'd confirmed two new powers, saved a few people, killed a demon, and got to open his Love up on the highway for the first time.

"We could always arrange a private tutorial if you want to learn a few new lessons," Crowley offered. Dean blinked. Wow – women were never this forward in his experience; at least they weren't without several drinks in them.

Not that Dean was interested in Crowley – because really if he was going to be into dudes, it wouldn't be a posh Brit that ruled hell. But on the other hand… It had been running through his head when he wasn't paying attention to his thoughts. The thought of possibly trying out something new really did appeal to his inner hedonist.

"Uhh…," Dean gave a nervous half laugh before clearing his throat. He was so going to regret this – seriously regret it. But sometimes you did things you knew you were going to regret because they were the most tempting. And Crowley was a demon…

Crowley raised an eyebrow without saying anything.

"What the hell," Dean shrugged a little and pushed Crowley against a tombstone.

It wouldn't be exactly accurate to say that Crowley looked surprised. It was more… pissed. Dean frowned – seriously? Asshole hits on him for ages and Dean finally gives a little and the dickwad is _pissed?!_

"Bollocks! Gormless plonker – I appear to be required at a cross road right bloody now," Crowley seethed. Dean nodded at the enraged demon.

"Yeah man – go," Dean said. No sooner had the words left his mouth, Crowley was gone.

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second.

What. The. Hell. It was like somebody upstairs was sending a message. Demons and sex – not a good idea.

Go figure. Maybe a beer and a cute little co-ed would fix him up. Yeah, that sounded like a damn fine plan. Or even better, a divorcee – she would know what's what and wouldn't be a giggling mess.

Walking to Love, Dean scratched his head as he thought about what almost happened. Had Crowley been using mojo or something? Because what had seemed like a good time just seemed like an incredibly bad idea now.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam waited.

This was most likely one of the most idiotic things he'd ever done. The demon standing in the middle of the crossroads in a rarely used fallow field looked at Sam like he was a cross between a lunatic and Lucifer himself. Of course, Lucifer was a bit of a lunatic, so there was that.

"Is he coming?" the hunter asked again.

"Vessel of Morning Star, I beg your patience. I have done exactly as you asked – I have no control over the actions of King Crowley," the small demon was nervous. Sam was rather amused at that reaction. Sam didn't hear from Lucifer anymore, but this asshat was acting like he was carrying the seed of all evil in him at this moment.

"Right – but is he even coming? I have other things-," Sam stopped at the clap of thunder that shook the ground.

"You!" Crowley's finger may as well have been a gun the way the little cross roads demon began to shiver.

"Your Highness, I have-"

"Listen to me carefully you bleeding sod – If you cannot figure out how to trade a wish for a soul, you can be reassigned."

"No Master," the demon begged.

"Seriously you maggot, give me one good reason I was called away from a rather frisky dish," Crowley straightened his suit and waited.

"Sam Winchester," was the only thing the demon gave as a reason and waved his hand towards the side of the road.

"Cor, two Winchesters in one night. I must have made someone either very happy with me or extremely angry," Crowley smirked at the younger hunter.

"I want to know what's going on with Dean," Sam started.

"That's it? I need better help it seems," Crowley looked at his lackey and frowned. "This isn't a good enough reason to call me. No soul, no sex, no first born, I fail to see why I was needed."

"Morning Star's vessel wanted to speak with you. He said his terms were for your ears alone," the note of hope in the demons voice was truly pathetic.

Crowley tilted his head a little while he looked at the hunter. He nodded as if reaching a decision and waved the lackey away.

"My ears alone – leave." Sam could almost feel the breath of relief as the demon disappeared.

"Tell me what's happening to Dean," Sam demanded the moment they were alone.

"Currently? I like to think he's jacking off, but in reality he's most likely drinking a rather plebian beer."

"That's disgusting," Sam didn't want to think about his brother's personal habits ever, but he really never wanted to hear about the King of Hell thinking about them. It was creepy as hell.

"Did he make a deal with you?" Sam kept his cool.

"Several as of late," Crowley winked. The fucker actually winked.

"Several? He's only got one soul-"

"Who said a soul is the only thing of value the Vessel of Michael has?"

Okay. Sam knew he was being baited; it was what Crowley did after all. Dean wasn't into that kind of stuff. On the other hand, what would Dean give up to do what he thought was the right thing? The answer was anything. Dean would do any and everything he could.

At least, that's what he had done for Sam.

"Stop deflecting and answer my question," the hunter tried again.

"I don't give anything away for free," Crowley looked at his nail and grinned. "You have something I might want?"

"I'm not selling you my soul!"

"I don't think Dean would be pleased with me taking it anyway – he is rather protective of what he thinks of as his, isn't he?" Crowley let the question sit in the air for a moment before he finished with the kill shot.

"Oh, I forgot – You tossed him away didn't you? So sad – when families break up,"

"We didn't break up – it was a fight," Sam repeated the thought that has been circling in his head for weeks. As if thinking it could make it real.

"Time's a wasting Samantha, try again."

"I just want to see Dean," Sam frowned. Jesus – this was the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

"And if I arrange a little get together, what do I get?"

"What do you want?" Sam had no idea what demon's thought of as valuable other than souls and power. And really, a soul was just more power, so…

"I find myself trying to be good, but… Well, it's not really my cup of tea." Crowley put a finger on his chin and began tapping.

"How about you owe me one?" he offered.

"No," Sam wanted to see his brother, but he hadn't become so desperate as to make an open ended deal.

"Of course not. Well, here's my problem – you have nothing I want," the King of Hell shrugged.

"Just tell me what's going on with Dean," Sam tried again.

"You really should just ask your brother," Crowley said.

Sam tried not to flinch. He knew it would come up, but still… hearing that a demon they Winchester's had hated and fought against knowing about all that shit was a blow to his pride.

"Oh dear, I forgot you aren't on speaking terms," the smirk on the demon's face was enough to make Sam want to smash the smug right off it.

"Shut up, and just answer the question."

"I don't see why Dean helping me is any of your business, Moose," the demon all but said _nah-nah-nah_ like a freaking toddler. Sam wondered if the man had been spoiled before becoming a demon, because he played the spoiled bitch perfectly.

"Why is Dean helping you?" Sam asked, picking up the slip from the King, who looked peeved at his loose tongue.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Humans were so easy to manipulate. It occurred to Crowley that Dean's disinterest and difficultly in being manipulated is what had drawn Crawley. The man was a challenge, a power in and of himself, and able to outwit not just demons, but angels as well.

Castiel was an idiot to have never acted on all that eye-fucking he and Dean had participated in. Crowley wasn't an idiot, and he wouldn't settle for eye-fucking.

"Business love – his, not yours. Unless you're looking for something? Never had brothers before," Crowley eyed Sam up and down. The man was captivating in the same way a train wreck was captivating. A display of pent up power than would, in the end, explode in a messy bit of broken bones and blood and mangled debris.

Crowley had his hands full enough without adding another Winchester to this juggling act; plus Dean was a more powerful ally and very unlikely to look favorably on any dealings with this man.

"The two of you aren't involved – Dean isn't like that," Sam stated with complete conviction in his voice. Far be it for Crowley to out Dean's little kissing slip ups.

"Oh what you don't know about Dean Winchester right now could fill the Great Library before it burned."

"He's my brother," Sam replied not bothering to cover his simmering anger.

"Doesn't appear to be feeling that brotherly connection much lately," Crowley watched for the small facial tell the young man never learned to hide. It would have been an excellent poker face if only the runt could control his anger.

"Fuck you," Sam sneers. Crowley notes his little barb hit harder than he'd expected. Well, it's always best to twist the knife once you've stabbed someone.

"Seems to me Dean's moved on," the demon said with fake sympathy pouring over his words.

"You can't change the fact that we're family," Sam stopped when Crowley laughed. Was this pup really so stupid? "Like God cast Cain out of His presence and gave him the strength to cast God off, you… Oh Samantha, did you really not know this stuff?"

Sam didn't move. Crowley decided to finish. Call it his cruel good deed for the century.

"When your father died, Dean became the head of the Winchester family. He's eldest, it just works that way so don't interrupt," Crowley rolled his eyes as Sam started to object to something. "As the head of your family-"

"He isn't the head of our family – we're brothers. Equals," Sam declared.

"Seriously? How amazingly stupid you humans are. You think family is about birth, but it's not. It's about survival and continuation of a linage. If one member isn't going to help get to that end, then he or she is easy replaced. A barren woman is cast aside. A weak child is given a lesser share of food or left in the woods. History is full of examples of exactly what family means. A marriage for power, for land. A joining of two people for the simple reason of power and influence," Crowley stopped to take a deep breath and looked at the hunter. He was fighting some kind of internal battle. It seemed a shame to let such a good battle go to waste. Crowley could help it along with a little petrol.

"You, my naïve little Moose, have proven yourself of no value to the elder Winchester. He left you," the demon left it unsaid that Dean had replaced him with Crowley himself. Of course, it wasn't true, but it was beautiful watching the fury race across Sam's face.

"Shut the fuck up! We ARE brothers," Sam screamed. He was turning red and the demon wondered for a moment if the man was going to literally explode from his pent up anger issues.

Crowley had no idea what the actual fight was about, but he was gleeful at how easily Sam was to riled up. Of the two brothers, Dean was the more powerful and since he was at odds with this one… It was in Crowley's best interest to cement the illusion of his loyalty to Dean.

"I may be able to put a word in if you wanted to keep the name," Crowley pretended to offer as a concession.

"It's my name asshole. It can't be taken away," Sam said. The whelp seemed so damned certain – it was almost cute. Maybe Crowley could share his thoughts with Dean and show him this little exchange. Like a movie date.

Fuck – no thinking about Dean Winchester and dating. Demons didn't date. Kings of Hell doubly so.

"Ah contraire. The name and the family follows the eldest son. He is the head of your family. Too bad you've always been such a whiny brat to never show the proper respect due your elder," Crowley bullshitted like the professional he was. Why stick to the truth when you had an imagination?

The young hunter stuttered with rage.

It briefly occurs to Crowley that he could perhaps pull the story of the brothers' fight from the incoherent hunter before him, but it could tip his hand that Dean wasn't up to confiding in the King of Hell. Not enough up side.

"Well, as fun as this hasn't been, I do have places to be, people to torture," Crowley waved a hand to indicate Sam must understand the trials of such a burden on your time.

"Unless, of course, you'd like to make a deal of some kind?" Unlikely, but sometimes the best deals were made in these types of unlikely situations.

"I just wish…" Sam said as he shook his head.

Now Crowley knew he could push this. The hunter was hurting and was open – vulnerable. He was the perfect mark really. However, Crowley has a feeling the younger Winchester would ask for something that would affect Dean, and fulfilling that would damage the truce the two of them had built.

With a sigh the demon remembered how much more powerful Dean is, and thus useful. No deals would be made with Sam anytime soon.

"Be careful what you wish for Moose – I can tell you in my professional opinion that it rarely ends exactly as you expected."

Crowley left – there was only so much soppy pitiful Sam even a demon could take.

Lucifer dodged a bullet sharing a vessel with that one.

**S-S-S-S-S**

**AN** –

**Great Library –** the Great Library of Alexandra was located in Egypt and was one of the largest in the ancient world. Famous scholars traveled to study there – it was also infamously burned. The who and when that happened are still debated.

Constant vigilance? If you're lost on that reference, please take a few weeks and re-read the Harry Potter books ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Love is suffering. One side always loves more. – _Catherine Deneuve

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam slammed the door to the bunker. Damn it – Crowley hadn't given him a damned thing, and now he had more questions. None of this made sense.

Add to the Crowley crap, the ache in his gut from this morning was getting worse; he knew part of it was from stress and worry. Fucking Dean taking Sam seriously and walking away. Like Dean ever listened to a damned thing Sam said. See, this was why he and Dean just couldn't work.

Except they did. They did work, or they had. They'd worked together and lived together and grew up together and died for each other. And sure, Sam hated it when Dean made choices Sam didn't like; Cas had been dead on with that point. Dean's only real fault was that he loved Sam a little too much.

Dean had let Sam go to college, even though it left Dean with their drunken dad.

Dean traded his soul for Sam's life never once caring how Sam would react. And Sam had carried around a ton of anger over that. What kind of asshole brings you back from the dead only to tell you that your only family, your rock, was going to die now? Not just die, but die _instead_ of you.

What the hell kind of thing was that supposed to be? Dean said it was because of the two of them, Sam was the one who had a chance to have a normal life. A good life.

Sam had kicked his brother to the curb because Sam was a spoiled asshole. And now, with all the skills Dean had learned over a hard life, he was avoiding Sam. No, that wasn't even right. Dean wasn't avoiding him – you had to care about somebody to avoid them.

Dean didn't even care enough to avoid. He just made it clear Sam may as well be dead.

And that hurt more than if Dean had yelled that he hated Sam. That he thought Sam was weak because he'd let himself get addicted to Ruby's blood. It hurt more than the day he'd watched Dean die.

This was…

Sam stood up and ran to the bathroom, but he didn't make it. The lunch he'd eaten spilled all over the floor and kept coming until Sam was heaving nothing but bile.

Catching his breath for a moment, it occurred to Sam that he'd have to clean this mess up. Something that normal people did when they were ill, but Dean had always taken care of this stuff. He did it without even so much as a thank you, but because in his mind that was how you treated the ones you loved.

Dean cleaned the sick off the floor.

Dean cooked chicken and stars soup in whatever shitty kitchen they had at the moment and added saltines that had been crushed into tiny bits.

Dean drew baths for Sam to sit in and lower his temperature.

Dean hustled pool to get money for Sam's medicine.

Dean did things that Sam never knew the exact details about to get money for doctor's visits.

Dean brought him stupid water bottles with the squirt tops, because they were easier to drink when you were in bed.

Dean remembered when to give Sam meds until they were gone, exactly like the doctor ordered.

Dean made sure Sam had a puke bucket next to the bed in case he couldn't make it.

And Sam…

Sam bitched about helping take the trash out because it smelled.

Sam crowed about how he was leaving this shitty life to live in sunny California.

Sam never called Dean to check on him.

Sam can't remember once helping Dean when he was sick. Just leaving his brother alone in the motel room and spending the day reading in the library and enjoying a day off from hunting.

Sam decided to sell his old laptop for fifty bucks instead of giving it to Dean after Dean bought a new one for Sam's birthday. In fact, Sam realized Dean had never had a computer of his own. Sam had a new one every few years.

Sam got the new shoes and complained they were cheap when Dean was patching his up with duct tape claiming the tape helped with keeping blood off his socks. It didn't.

Sam mocked Dean for never having a single real relationship, but Dean did have one. Dean was his keeper, his brother, his father, and his best friend.

Fuck.

This whole damned thing was completely Sam's fault. He didn't like what Dean did – true. But he also remembered how annoyed he'd gotten when Jessica let food dry on the plates – it was his job to scrape it off because the sound was like nails on a chalk board to her.

In fact, he remembered giving a friend some advice about dealing with things like that – just picture your life without the annoyance.

You might hate a part of somebody's personality, but if they died tomorrow… If they died, every time you saw a wet towel on the floor, you'd feel it like a kick in the gut that you missed their mildewy towels. When you smelled their favorite food that made the house smell like crap, you'd break down in tears knowing your house was never going to have that funk again.

You'd give anything to have a messy bathroom, smelly house, and shoes kicked off next to the bed instead of put in the closet just a few feet away.

After the fire, Sam found himself leaving plates out just so he could be closer Jess in some weird way. Like a tribute to her annoying habits that he missed and would have done damned near anything to be annoyed by just one more time.

And now… Here Sam sat, wondering if anybody would ever call him a bitch again.

Would anybody poke fun at his admittedly floral shampoos?

Would he ever have to listen to nonstop classic rock just because he was shotgun and had to shut his piehole?

Would he ever have an entire conversation with just a single look across a pool table?

Would he ever have to sit in the car because there was 'company' in the motel room?

He barely made it to the toilet this time. Damn it – he was making himself sick. This was why Dean refused to have touchy feely moments and repressed everything. Because Dean had his shit figured out and while it wasn't the way Sam did it, Dean had been happy.

Dean had been happy traveling around killing things and saving people. He'd felt rewarded on a personal level saving the world. He loved his life, his brother, and his car. It was simple. Maybe it was because he knew what was important.

Maybe Sam should have learned some of those lessons.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Cas appeared next to Dean the moment he finished the prayer. The hunter looked mostly the same as he had the last time they had spoken, but there was a certain restlessness that hung around him. Of all the moods Dean had, this was the most confusing for Castiel. The concept of boredom was something angels simply could not understand.

"Hello Dean," Cas greeted his friend.

"Hey man. Wanna' go hunting with me? Just some haunting at the local museum, but since I'm here…," Dean rubbed the back of his neck. Cas had learned to catalog many of Dean's facial expressions and body language to help him understand what his human meant when he refused to actually say anything.

Right now, Dean wanted to hunt, but more importantly he wanted some contact with somebody he trusted. The rubbing of his neck was a tic that usually meant he was afraid he would be rejected. It was odd; Cas could not remember the last time he had rejected Dean since getting his Grace back.

Well, some Grace.

"Of course," the angel nodded.

"Cool – you can never be too safe, ya' know? Backup is always good," Dean babbled as he walked to the back of the car and popped the trunk.

On reflection, Cas thought it a bit overkill to have him assist on this hunt which ended up being a simple salt and burn of a lock of hair in a display case. The ghost had not even showed up. It was rather dull, but if Dean felt the need to have backup…

Well, the least Castiel could do was be there for his friend.

"Hey – you don't have to leave," Dean said quickly as he stored the gear in the truck.

"Of course," Cas agreed. There was something off with his hunter. Judging from the way Dean kept looking at Cas and looking away, the angel was fairly sure Dean had something to say.

He also knew he would just have to wait for the green eyed man without rushing him. Rushing would only push him away, and he would never open up.

See? Cas had learned a lot about humanity. His social skills were not quite so rusty anymore.

"Hop in Cas – I wanna' show you something," Dean climbed in the shiny new car.

"This is a very nice vehicle," Cas offered as they drove away. He knew Dean was fond of his Baby; it was probable he held the new car in some esteem.

"Yeah, Crowley's an ass, but he let me pick out anything I wanted," Dean said off-handedly as he drove through the streets making turns like he knew where they were headed.

"Crowley? The demon gave you a car?" Cas asked, a thread of suspicion working its way through him.

"Yep," his human sounded pleased.

"What did you have to do?" the angel demanded. Surely not…

"Why do you assume I had to do anything?" Dean asked defensively.

"King of the Crossroads does not give things away Dean. What are you doing with him?" It was the question that all of Heaven had been speculating about.

"Look, just…" Dean took a deep breath before finishing his thought. "Look, I can explain, okay?"

"I have heard that one before Dean," Cas frowned. It was the one flaw of free will; humans made the same mistakes over and over.

"I didn't sell my soul – just my services," the hunter sped through the turns on a small back road.

"What kind of services?" That hardly sounded any better to the angel's ears.

"Fighting. He wants me to kill Abaddon. Since I already wanted that, it seemed like a win-win." Dean offered a small grin.

"So you are killing Abaddon in return for a car? That does not sound like a good deal Dean…"

"Not exactly," Dean hedged.

"What exactly then?" Cas pressed.

"I asked him to keep me off the grid, give me the resources I needed, and a place to stay. Also, he has his stupid demons searching for the jawbone I need to kill the bitch," Dean said with a sigh.

"You did it. You made it impossible for me to find you unless you called to me," Cas paused as he tried to figure out how he felt. One the one hand, he understood Dean had been hurting, but on the other, they had been through both hell and purgatory together.

If there was anybody Dean should know he could trust, it should have been Castiel. After everything Cas had given up and done for the hunter…

"I'm not gunna' get into this without a beer. Inside?" Dean asked.

"And then you will 'get into' this?"

"Yeah man – I got some stuff to talk about anyway. Shit this sucks," Dean grumbled as he walked into the old farm house they had pulled up to while Cas had been distracted with Dean's admissions.

It was clear Dean had been staying here. There were bottles on the coffee table, but the kitchen was spotless. The man was just a series of contradictions.

"Okay – long story short…" Dean trailed off. He stared off into the bottle of beer he'd popped open without saying anything for several long moments.

"I made the first deal to kill the bitch in return for hiding me and getting me what I needed to do the job. No souls. The second deal was the car in exchange for helping collect a soul for a contract that had expired. Don't look at me like that – the dude got what he wanted and he was trying to get out of paying," Dean frowned.

"I was not looking at you in any way. I believe that would be your guilty conscious at work," Cas frowned.

"Anyway, the thing is – Okay. Hold on," Dean stood up and started pacing. "Crowley kissed me."

"Of course he did. It is the traditional way that Crossroad deals are sealed," Cas was trying to follow Dean's train of thought, but it really did not make much sense.

"He keeps hitting on me," Dean confessed.

"He has been propositioning you sexually?" Cas asked. His heart started racing; the idea of Dean and Crowley involved in any way was disturbing, but the thought of them involved in a relationship of any kind…

"Yeah, I guess," Dean shrugged.

"I am not sure why you are telling me this. If you are looking for a confessional, I do not think I am the best angel for that right now," Cas really wanted to leave. He felt uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. Listening to his hunter talk about his new demon lover was not something he wanted to participate in.

"What? No. Cas, he keeps saying stuff, and I keep wondering about some of the stuff, but not with him," was the less than clear response. "Ya' know?"

"I understood every word, but not what you meant when you put them together like that," the angel knew he was now officially out of his depth. The brief time he had spent as a human had in no way prepared him for this conversation.

"Dude – shit!" Dean leaned over and looked Cas in the eye before continuing. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Of course. What is it?" Cas answered without having to think about his answer. He would do anything for his hunter.

"Ya' know what? Never mind. This is a stupid idea," Dean ran his hand through his hand in frustration.

"Dean, whatever you need, if it is within my ability, I will provide for you. Always." At least this was simple. Help Dean.

"Okay… I want to kiss you," Dean said and watched Cas carefully.

The air felt like it had escaped from Castiel's chest. He had once or twice thought about his hunter in romantic terms, but he had also known Dean would not be able to reciprocate those feelings. And now…

"What?" Cas managed. He winced in the privacy of his own mind at how weak his single word sounded.

"I want to kiss you. Or you can kiss me. Either way," Dean shrugged. "Not really too picky on that part."

"Oh. May I ask why?" He felt that was a reasonable question all things considered. Plus, it had the added benefit of stalling for time while Castiel tried to get his breathing under control. His heart was racing so fast; he doubted he would be able to slow it down.

"Because I just wanna' know – shit. You're a dude and I just want to know if I like kissing all dudes or just-," Dean stopped as Cas held his hand up in the universal signal to stop.

"You enjoyed kissing the demon." There really was not much point in asking if it was true. The flush on Dean's cheeks was enough. His hunter took pleasure with a demon pressing against him. Cas felt his eyes begin to sting.

"Son of a bitch…" Dean trailed off as he slid across the sofa and pulled Cas into an awkward hug.

"I do not understand why you wish to kiss me if you liked-," the angel didn't finish his sentence. The mere thought was too profane to verbalize.

"I didn't like it. I mean, it was okay, but… It wasn't awful, but I couldn't stop thinking that if any dude was going to kiss me, it should at least be somebody I liked," the words spilled out of the hunter's mouth.

"I still do not –"

"Not just anybody. You." Dean said quietly while looking at the floor.

"Me?"

Castiel took a moment to consider. He knew he had an interest in Dean Winchester, and it appeared that Dean had a passing thought about it as well. And the idea that Dean would choose Cas over the King of Hell was very appealing.

At that moment, it became important for Cas to do it. It was a noble and selfless act to wipe the memory of Crowley from his hunter's mind. From his lips.

Taking a deep breath, Cas reached out and pulled Dean's chin up. Their eyes met – one with fear of rejection, and one with hopeful excitement.

**S-S-S-S-S**

He was insane. They both were.

That was the only reasonable explanation Dean could come up with as he stared at Cas' mouth. He knew the angel had finally lost his V card, but he was hardly experienced. Why the angel would agree to this was a little beyond Dean, but he was damned glad.

And just like that, their lips met.

Whereas kissing Crowley had been fury and aggression, Cas was… He was warm honey. Sweet and slow – something that he knew would have him licking his lips for hours after his last taste just to try and find a little bit of mouthwatering temptation.

Sighing, Dean opened his mouth and licked the seam of Cas' lips. The angel opened to him like a flower opening to the sun – fresh and so purely perfect. The moment their tongues slid together they started a dance, and it might have been Dean who groaned first; it ended with them both reaching for the other to clutch in a tight embrace.

Having never been with a man, Dean wasn't sure he was expecting, but the complete submission of his angel was not high on the list. And he was man enough to admit he had been wondering for the past few weeks what might happen.

Cas broke the kiss with a gasp, and gave Dean a bleary smile.

"I very much enjoyed that," said the master of understatement.

"Come here," Dean pulled Cas into his lap. A few moments of positioning the angel, and they were chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other.

Without wasting another moment, Dean reached up and grabbed the back of Cas' neck and brought him down for another kiss. A kiss? More like a plundering of the angel's mouth. As innocent as Cas had started their first kiss, Dean dominated this one. It felt like he was trying his level best to pour every filthy private fantasy he'd ever had into it as his tongue mapped out Cas' mouth.

Dean grabbed the angel's hips and pulled them flush together. The angel's moan of either surprise or pleasure was quickly lost as Dean's mouth started kissing from Cas' mouth, down his jaw, only to latch onto the soft skin at the base of his neck.

"Fuck." Turned out, Cas wasn't quite as innocent as Dean had expected. The Soldier of the Lord let slip a single cuss word that seemed to send a sizzling jolt down the hunter's spine if the full body tremble was anything to go by.

"Fuck indeed," came the clipped words from across the room. Dean looked up and locked eyes with a furious Crowley.

Cas turned from his position in Dean's lap and wondered if smiting the King of Hell so one could continue to explore the pleasures of the flesh would be considered a plus or minus.

**S-S-S-S-S**

The very last thing Crowley expected to walk in on was that bloody twink angel sitting in Winchester's lap making out like a damned teenager.

Bollocks.

"Castiel, how have you been doing kitten? Find your claws?" he smirked. It was amazing the amount of anger that his sarcasm could mask.

"Why are you here Crowley?" Dean asked, as he moved his lap full of holy feathers to the side.

"Business." That was enough information for the hunter. He wasn't spilling his plans in front of some angel with multi-personality disorder. One day an angel, then a mortal, then a God, then a gas station clerk, then a thief.

"I was a little busy if you didn't-," Dean started to dismiss the demon. It was at that point Crowley went from merely angry to actually seeing red.

His control was slipping more and more every day. Damn it – the blood in his veins kept his humanity firmly attached. Crowley had not been a very good person in life, and one of his many and varied flaws was raging jealousy and possessiveness.

"Key word: 'was', as in past tense, _darling_. Now you're not and I require your services," Crowley pretended to dust his jacket off as if this were just another day in the life of an evil overlord.

"And I can decline any requests, remember?" Fucking snarky bastard.

"Then maybe I shouldn't have turned down the other Winchester I spoke with tonight. He had the most interesting things to say and offer…" Another one of Crowley's skills as a human had been his ability to stick the knife right where it could do the most damage.

"Crowley…" Dean's voice held a solid threat. This was a dangerous game.

"After all, _there's _a lad who knows what demons can do when they set their minds to it. No morals or… Well, let's just call them restrictions that angels tend to have," he couldn't stop the dig at Castiel.

"No one would ever accuse you of having morals," the angel said in his flat voice.

"Thank you. Anyway, I believe Moose might have had a better offer anyway. One hunter is the same as the other – I'll contact you when the jaw is recovered," Crowley hated betting when he actually cared about the stakes, but Dean Winchester was getting out of hand. Regardless of the man's protestations, he knew the hunter wouldn't knowingly send Crowley to Sam.

He hoped.

"He won't help you, man," Dean spit out, his jaw tightening.

"You know how convincing I can be. Besides, I'm curious if what they say about brothers is true," Crowley faked a convincing thoughtful face.

"What do they say about brothers Dean?"

"He's adorable, really. Does he roll on his back and let you scratch his belly as well?" Crowley taunted.

"Fuck off Crowley," the green eyed vixen tossed out without much venom.

"Well, as lovely as this has been, I do have an assignment for you Dean. Decline if you wish, though don't make the mistake of thinking you're my only resource," Crowley sneered. It was true though – there were other contracts he could pull to add an extension for services to take out Abaddon's minions. They weren't Winchesters, however.

"Yeah, I get it. Cas? I'll see you later, ok?" Dean was pushing lightly on the angel's hips to dislodge him.

Fucking finally.

"I am not comfortable leaving you here with an angry demon," the angel replied. Aw, how nauseatingly adorable.

"I promise not to break your toy, Castiel," Crowley gave his best innocent face, which in reality wasn't so much innocent as almost Eddie Haskell in its insincerity. "Unless he wants me to of course."

"He's not going to hurt me Cas – I'm way too valuable at this point, right Fergus?" Dean could dish it as well as he took it. Honestly, it was one of the things Crowley liked most about this human.

Only, not right now.

Crowley rolled his eyes. It positively infuriated him that Dean not only knew his value to Crowley, but would flaunt it so openly. Did the boy have zero survival instincts? Right now, Hell thought the hunter was a toy, a dangerous toy that maybe had a few powers compliments of a deal, but a toy none the less.

"Very well. Dean, please contact me when you have a free moment," and with that the angel was gone.

When Dean turned and looked expectedly at Crowley, the demon did his job and kept the well-rehearsed blasé mask of indifference in place, but inside… Inside, he was roiling with conflicting thoughts and, Lucifer forbid, emotions.

Ever since the bloody Winchester brothers had tried to save his soul, he'd been dealing with lingering wisps of humanity. Sometimes it would be a simple smell and he would be in his mother's kitchen as she cooked a nice dinner and talked to her son about his day. Other times the feelings of a man longing for affection would surface briefly.

It was smegging annoying.

At the moment, he was looking at the hunter and wanted nothing more than to yell like an angry fish wife and accuse him of cheating. Cheating _on what_, was undefined in this stupid intrusive thought, but Crowley couldn't clear it from his mind.

"So, murder, mayhem, or both?" Dean asked with a casual smile. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't had a lap full of fucking angelic ass in his lap five fucking minutes ago.

"Why?" Crowley asked, ignoring the attempt at levity.

"Dude, I'm not getting into this. I was curious, and that's all I'm saying. Got it?" Dean walked over to the closet and grabbed a jacket. "We going or what?"

Crowley nodded. Stupid. The answer didn't answer a single question and actually raised even more. Damn it.

"Before we leave, I need to tell you – Moose summoned me. Asking all kinds of personal questions about you, he was. Some about you and I. It was almost touching, if one went for that sort of thing," Crowley said.

"And you told him what?"

"That it was business. Yours, not his – and it is positively amusing how much he disliked that answer. Seems he's under the impression you are still brothers," Crowley baited the man.

"Whatever. So, what do you need me to do?" Dean asked as he grabbed his favorite gun from the table and slipped it in the ankle holster he'd taken to wearing.

"There's a little get together of a few key players in Abaddon's plans tonight. I thought you might be able to express how hurt our feelings got at not receiving an invitation," suggested the King of Hell.

"I can do that," the hunter replied with a grin.

"I thought you might flex some of your newly found skills. No point in pretending you're just a regular hunter anymore – you really shouldn't have let those two demons escape."

"My powers, my call. So, how many?" Dean asked walking outside towards the blasted car.

"Upwards of ten at last estimate. Do you need support? I can get a few of my boys and maybe a hell hound or two if you need?" he thought it unlikely to be taken up on the offer. If Dean was anything, it was not a team player if the team consisted of demons.

"Nah, I got it. I got a new plan that I can't wait to test out," and even though Dean smirked, Crowley felt a tingle of fear creep through him. Just another left over thread of humanity that made being a demon difficult. Of course, he did have reason to fear Dean's newly found Mark powers.

"Excellent," Crowley faked his approval.

"So, I was thinking we might – Dude, you ok?" Dean asked as Crowley let out a small growl of frustration.

"I'm bloody well getting summoned again, only this time it's a moronic crossroads demon that can't do his damned job!"

Here's the thing – People think power is good to have. They see the upside of getting what you want when you want and never having to explain yourself to somebody. What they don't see is all the work that goes along with that power.

Crowley was responsible for directing the demons in everything from daily accounts, quarterly goals, containing the souls, regular tours of the torture chambers, and reading reports on efficiency and dynamics. Whatever dynamics was, Crowley was fairly positive Hell had invented it; it drove him to near homicidal rage whenever he tried to slug through reports.

And this… Demons that were new, or stupid, or stupid and new tended to summon him personally for all sorts of problems. It was like he was their dedicated tech support help line. He'd tried to set up a system for dealing with these issues, but demons were, against all expectations, traditionalist.

"I have to make a pit stop. Seems one of my new crossroads demons is having a little issue of lacking common sense and competency," Crowley replied. It might be time to bring back a program of torture for idiocy. Survival of the fittest and all that.

"I'll wait here till you're done," Dean said.

"I think not. I'd rather not come back to find you and you feathered boyfriend getting freaky," Crowley knew his jealousy was bleeding through, but… It was that fucking humanity crap again. He couldn't just purge it from his system, and it popped up when he really needed to keep it away.

"You're an idiot. Cas isn't my boyfriend," Dean rolled his eyes and finished getting a few supplies from the trunk before shutting it.

"You give it up without even a class ring or a letterman jacket? Interesting. When we have more time, I'd like to explore that a little," Crowley managed to convincingly leer while replaying the conversation and cheering that Cas and Dean were not an item.

This was divine punishment – the fact that he was the powerful King of Hell, and he felt like a young lad with his first crush.

Pathetic.

**S-S-S-S-S**

**AN:**

**Eddie Haskell** – _Leave it to Beaver_ (1957-1963) character that was all polite to parents and a menace to society underneath.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Truth is everybody is going to hurt you: you just gotta' find the ones worth suffering for. – _Bob Marley

**S-S-S-S-S**

They stood at the cross roads of a newly laid out subdivision in the middle of a chilly overcast night. Dean wasn't entirely sure who the demon that turned to Crowley was – he looked nervous though. Dean didn't go in much for subtlety, but even he knew to not show weakness in a situation like this.

"What's the problem this time you wretch?" Crowley growled. "This is really getting to be a habit – I have other things to do aside from hold your hand."

"This guy wants to trade his soul for healing his brother," he stuttered. "Can we do that?"

"Hounds in Hell you're a bloody idiot. Of course we can," the King of Hell rolled his eyes.

"Wait, what?" Dean couldn't help but interrupt. "Dude, you can't sell your soul. What about praying?"

"I prayed. My family and friends and everybody prayed. I've spent more time on my knees in church begging and pleading for nothing. He's my brother –," the kid said as if that explained everything. Dean took a moment to really look at the young man. There were deep purple bruises under his red rimmed eyes. The hair was a few weeks past needing a haircut, and it was clear he hadn't been eating well. The shirt all but hung off his frame, and the belt used to keep the pants up had clearly been taken in a couple of holes if the still bent leather meant anything.

In a past life, Dean would have understood this young man. In that past life, Dean had done this exact thing and sold his own soul for his brother. Now… Well, Dean didn't have a brother. So, there was that –

"Still – you can't just throw your life away like this," the helplessness Dean felt came through in his voice. This kid was him; this was his life not too long ago.

"Look man, I know you're trying to help and all," the kid started.

"CAS!" Dean yelled. No, he couldn't let another good soul be sold into the pits of Hell. No.

"Dean," Cas said appearing at Dean's shoulder. It was stupid how reassuring that voice felt.

"Join the bloody party Sparkles," Crowley grunted as he waved his hand in a get on with it motion. Dean saw the opening the King of Hell was offering. He was allowing Dean to derail this deal if he could in front of his demon underling. Again, the King of Hell was building Dean up in the eyes of the rank and file of Hell.

Interesting. It would be even more interesting to figure out exactly why Crowley felt he needed to do so.

"This kid's brother needs help; he's sick or something," Dean said pointing to the slack jawed boy. Granted, Cas had just shown up out of nowhere, but the kid was acting like he'd never expected angels to be real. He'd just fucking summoned a damned cross roads demon and an _angel_ surprised him?

"I understand," Cas nodded, and Dean felt relieved. His angel would help – nobody would have to repeat the torture that Castiel, Angel of the Lord, had saved Dean from.

"Sod off Feathers," Crowley snarked. The hunter frowned at the demon and wondered briefly if putting the two of them in the same proximity had been a good idea. Crowley did just interrupt something between the old friends and looked less than thrilled with it.

"No need for vulgarity Crowley," the angel said. "There is nothing I can do, unfortunately. This is out of my hands."

"Told you," the kid sighed as Dean turned to his angel.

"Seriously? Just that easy? Nope, can't do anything, and fly away?" he was hurt and shocked. Cas knew firsthand what would be awaiting this young man, this kid.

"Dean, there are limits to my powers. This is beyond the scope of what I am able to accomplish."

"Bullshit. You fix me and Sa- You fixed us all the time!" Dean knew he was spiraling out of control. It all hit so fucking close to home.

"Dean, calm down," Cas reached out to place a reassuring hand on Dean's arm. Without blinking, Dean felt his face close down and the buzzing that he'd been ignoring since this little shit-fest started grew in volume.

"Enough," Dean all but screamed and waved his hand as if to knock an annoying gnat away. It wasn't a gnat, but an angel that got knocked. Cas landed several feet away looking shocked.

"If you can't help me, you're useless right now." Dean raised an eyebrow at the slack jawed angel.

The silence in the middle of this God-forsaken road was overwhelming until Crowley shook the quiet off with a half snort.

"Perfectly entertaining though this little drama is, I will accept your offer. Your soul due in ten years for your brother's fully recovered health," the King of Hell spelled the terms out.

"Yeah," the boy said with a nod.

"And you know how to seal the deal?" Crowley all but grinned while looking right at Dean. Fucker.

"Um, a handshake?" he asked hopefully.

"A kiss. Come on, let's get it over with. You aren't my type anyway, so no need to draw it out," Crowley barely got the words out before the kid launched himself at Crowley and smashed their lips together like he was afraid the demon would take it all back.

"Done." Crowley wrinkled his nose and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief

"Wait!" Dean yelled. His head felt fuzzy and too full with rage at the injustice of it all. Humans always got the shit end of the stick dealing with Heaven and Hell. Dean was fucking sick of his race being put in the middle of petty wars and deals and fickle attentions.

"Wait. Okay, so I want a deal." His voice surprised Crowley almost as much as it shocked Dean himself. Crap, another deal meant another kiss, at least. Dean just couldn't stop leaping into this stuff.

"Dean, this is not necessary," Cas spoke up.

"You had your chance Cas," Dean didn't even glance away from Crowley as he spoke to his angel. "Crowley, you to give the kid his soul back, keep his brother healthy, and... what do you want?"

"I can't for the life of me think of anything right now. What did you have in mind?"

"A couple of vetoes on my vetoes?" the hunter offered.

"I think not," Crowley answered. Fuck, what the hell could Dean offer – it wasn't like the demon had many weaknesses.

"I'll tell you what happened with Sam," the name even felt bitter coming from his lips.

"That's kind of you love, but not worth a whole soul," the King of Hell was enjoying this entirely too much.

"Fine, you can name your price." Okay, Dean needed to find out if he needed to register as an official dumbass somewhere. What the fuck was he thinking?

Dean's insides felt a little sick. Crowley was going to want to… Oh God. But it was still easier than letting this boy loose his soul because he cared about his brother. But it served a couple of purposes for Dean. He could use this to lower himself in Crowley's eyes; it wouldn't do for the demon to feel threatened by Dean. Aside from saving a soul, it also put Cas on notice that he wasn't the only one Dean could deal with.

"No Dean," Cas pleaded with his quiet deep voice. "Don't do this. You know what he's going to want-"

"That is an extremely generous offer Dean," Crowley smirked and leaned in to place a small kiss on Dean's lips. "Kid, your brother's right as rain – run along now."

The boy didn't need to be told twice; he ran without looking back, but his eyes caught Dean's before he took off. It didn't take a genius to see the silent thank you in them.

"Well boys, I believe Dean and I have a deal to seal – I think for the sake of my dear hunter's reputation we will retire to a private place to work out the details," Crowley stepped next to Dean and placed a hand at the small of his back. God, it was so unfair it felt warm and reassuring. He was almost positive Crowley wouldn't hurt him, but he also knew this was going to be… unpleasant.

Not that Dean had ever thought about getting his butt cherry popped, but he damned well had never thought it would be the King of Hell in exchange for a stranger's soul to help a sick brother. Gah – Dean was a sap. A huge freaking girl.

Cas. Cas was glaring at Dean like this was all his fault. The kid, the soul, the brother, the demons, and maybe even the color of the sky. That was going to be a nasty little mess to clean up later. But Cas and Dean weren't really anything. One kiss didn't make them exclusive or in a relationship or anything.

"Come along love," Crowley pulled Dean closer. With a last smirk at Cas, Crowley took them back to the farm house.

The familiar surroundings should have been a comfort, but instead they added to the jumpiness coursing through him. Dean had panicked when he told Crowley to name his price. Looking at that kid with the earnest love for his brother… Dean knew to stop and think these things out.

"So… About those terms," Dean licked his lips and wondered if there was any way out it. Like maybe he could claim temporarily insanity?

"Yes – about those terms," Crowley moved in closer. Their mouths were a few inches away when the demon spoke again.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Cain sat back and frowned.

It was dull being immortal. He remembered everything he'd ever seen, said, or done – there was nothing new left in the world for him to experience. And then one day, he'd been tending his bees, and everything changed.

It was like a fresh breeze on a hot summer day when you hadn't even realized you where suffocating with the overwhelming heat. Not just a breeze, but a tornado. Reckless and violent in its awe inspiring beauty.

Dean Winchester. And his brother Sam of course.

The exact image of the first brothers. Cain and Able. It had been like looking at a living version of himself from this new time.

Cain had sold his soul to save his brother; so had Dean.

Cain's brother had become mixed up with demons; so had Dean's.

Cain had been marked by Hell for his trouble; Dean had been marked for being saved from Hell.

Cain had trained and led his fellow Knights; Dean trained and led his hunters.

Both had caused havoc wherever they walked.

Only…

Only Dean had taken a different path since receiving the Mark. That cursed Mark from God as punishment for the first murder. Dean Winchester was not, as of yet, giving in to the visions of death and blood that Cain knew had to be plaguing the hunter.

It was part of the curse – to murder your brother in cold blood and know you would never be forgiven.

It was a choice Cain had made with full knowledge of his actions, but the brash Winchester had simply taken the mark without caring for his personal cost in order to stop the bitch Cain had been unsuccessful in killing.

Cain found he rather liked Dean Winchester and even envied a few of his choices. Not his choice in companions obviously; Crowley was a lecherous bastard.

So, it seemed after millenniums of existing, Cain had found a hobby.

Dean Winchester watching was extremely entertaining.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Crowley's lips before the demon even had a chance to get a word out. And the stab of regret that the kiss was so brief and chaste was quickly pushed to the side. Crowley had business to conduct after all.

"As tempting as your delightful body is, I want to know what happened between you and your boyfriend and a bit of blood," Crowley sat at the kitchen table and waited for Dean to answer his question.

He knew he was wasting a chance to nail the hunter, but this was for the long term planning. If the angel was seriously going to become an issue, it should be dealt with sooner rather than later.

Also, Crowley's stomach still churned every time the image of Dean and that angel kissing popped in his head.

"Why?" Dean challenged. Of course he did, because Dean Winchester couldn't do one bloody thing without fighting.

"Because its dealer's choice, and I'm the dealer," the demon said and placed his hands in a studied relaxed pose on the table, fingers interlaced.

"Wait, you want to know about Cas, but not Sam? I thought for sure…," the hunter trailed off as he chased his thoughts around in his head.

This was one of those times Crowley would allow Dean to draw his own conclusions, because the truth was mildly disturbing to the demon. He wanted to know about the angel and hunter because it could interfere with his plans, true. But that wasn't all of it.

Also, it was rather interesting that the hunter didn't even blink twice at the request for blood. Figures all the focus would be on the feathered freak.

Crowley had to admit he was jealous as bloody hell. The sodding angel had been in Dean's lap, with the hunter's hands wrapped possessively around him. Crowley had to bargain for stupid kisses – and while he wasn't too far gone to understand why Dean would prefer the angel, it still hurt.

That hurt? That was the damned problem. This stupid humanity that still swirled around in his head – it was going to possibly going to be his downfall unless he got control of it. As time passed, the craving for just a taste of human blood proved more and more impossible to resist. Fucking Winchesters turning him into a junkie.

"How is Cas worth the release of a soul, but not Sam?"

"Why should I value the soul of a man you won't even call brother? Sam wouldn't be enough to trade for the soul of that kid," the demon shrugged. He could have asked for information about the split between the brothers, but his jealous little heart had spoken before he could fully think of the pros and cons.

Damn it. Dealing with emotions was worse than torture in the pit.

And Crowley felt he was in a unique position to actually know what he was talking about.

"Fine. Cas is Cas," Dean said with a shrug.

Crowley rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. This was going to be like pulling teeth; only not in the good way.

Dean looked at the frustrated demon in front of him with a smug grin. Like it was so fucking fun to pull the asshole's chain.

"You are an idiot. Answer or I'll consider it your admission you have no intention of fulfilling the deal," Crowley's face was turning slightly ruddy with his eyes glazed. It would occurred to Dean, even as dim as he could be, that the demon wasn't quite right.

"Jesus you're a fucking baby. Fine. Cas saved me from Hell, and we have a 'profound bond'," Dean rolled his eyes as he actually used the stupid air quotes.

"Go on," the British demon knew he was being a prick. He waved his hands in that keep going motion while rolling his eyes.

"You made a good point about the whole hedonistic thing. Anyway, I thought I'd try it with Cas. That good enough? I swear we aren't going steady if you're thinking of asking him out," Winchester's mouth would write a check one day that his ass couldn't cash.

Crowley pulled an old fashioned syringe out of his coat pocket and motioned for Dean to hand his arm over. The answer about the blue eyed feathered fucker was less than complete, but it was enough. Now he needed some blood before he started losing it.

Well, losing it more.

"Blood? What the hell you need it for?" the hunter asked as he offered his arm over.

"You and your Moose made me a blasted junkie. Ever since you tried to save my soul, I've been like this – and it's your fault!" Crowley snarled as he pulled the plunger back, filling the tube with bright red blood.

"You are one fucked up dude," Dean said as the King of Hell shot up with the hunter's blood.

"What can I say? King of Hell here," he smirked. Drinking blood wasn't even the beginning of the depraved things he'd partaken in.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam tossed the thick book on the table with an echoing thud. He hadn't been able to find jack shit that might be of any help to Castiel. There was nothing on Cain and Able outside of the well-known biblical story and other than a brief mention in the bible, the Mark of Cain wasn't mentioned again until several hundred years later.

Crazy cults had used it as a symbol, but the mark they'd used wasn't anything like the one Dean had carried. The probability the cult had anything to do with Cain himself was non-existent.

It hadn't been until Sam had called a college professor whose specialty was folk stories that things started getting somewhere. There were a few tales and written accounts of oral stories that placed the legendary Cain as a sort of evil warlord. Cain, his mark, and the blade made of a jawbone.

Bingo.

That fit with that Dean had mentioned; there were several rare texts that were stored in the library on campus; the professor had invited Sam so come for a couple of days and research. He'd been in the middle of packing a few changes of clothes when he uncovered a letter that had been on his dresser for a little over a month now.

Stanford.

They couldn't reinstate his old scholarship, but if he came back for a year, and did as well as they expected he would, he would have the rest of his education covered by an endowment. Until then, he would have to take a loan out for that first year, but he understood. He'd left once; why would they trust he would stay this time?

The only problem was… Sam wasn't really sure if he wanted the life that going to Stanford would create. No brother sucked enough, but pretending the world was normal and safe? He might have been able to do it when he was younger. In his very early twenties, he'd been so carefree and easily influenced.

But now? Early thirties – a decade in which the most amazing things that came from the terrible supernatural forces in the world had forced him to grow up and acknowledge he wasn't really cut out for a normal life.

Plus, if he stayed in the dorms, he would be totally out of place. And an apartment would mean more student loans. Either way, if Dean ever decided to forgive Sam… Dean would never come anywhere near Sam if it looked like Sam had moved on.

That dream, once held so tightly, now seemed like too big a cost if it meant ruining the ever so distant chance Dean might reach out to him.

God, Sam had been such a spoiled brat. How had Dean stood him for so long? Because the man he was right now wasn't much of a man at all.

Sam picked up the thick packet and sighed. He walked to the door and dropped it in the trash on his way out without a backward glance.

Some things are just never meant to be.

**S-S-S-S-S**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Violence isn't always evil. What's evil is the infatuation with violence. – Jim Morrison_

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean sat at the small table in the nook attached to the kitchen. He had a couple of books in front of him and a stack of paper that he'd write a couple of notes on and then push aside. There wasn't a case he was working on; nothing seemed to be happening lately.

It had occurred to Dean that he had been collecting an interesting number of powers lately and maybe those powers had been documented without reference to the Mark. So… here he was doing fucking Sammy's job.

It wasn't right that Dean could control so many things in his world, except his thoughts. His thoughts swirled around sometimes and never seemed to accept that Sam was off limits. The man was not his brother, not his partner, and frankly, he was a mistake.

A mistake that Dean had poured so much love, faith, and energy into that the scars on his psyche would never heal. The betrayal would never fade. Is this what Cain felt when he realized his brother was a massive douche-canoe? What was the final act that made the first born son of Adam and Eve slam the rock on his brothers' skull and extinguish the light of life from his brother's eyes?

Not that Dean was thinking about killing Sam. Not often. And whenever Dean caught his mind edging into that area, he would quickly pull it back. No. Killing Sam wasn't on the table.

That would require contact with the man, and Dean had no intention of ever seeing him again. Though, in all likelihood, they would meet again. The world never seemed to care much for Dean's intentions.

What would he say? Do? How would he control that ever boiling rage when he thought of that night Sam had callously thrown a lifetime of affection and support back in Dean's face like it was nothing more than a used tissue.

No conversation would be needed. No hugs would be exchanged, of course.

There wasn't much for them to sort out. Sam would shrug and Dean would turn away. Maybe they would have to hunt again together. That would suck. One of the few times Dean had felt truly like they were connected on a deep level that didn't need any words was when the two of them were on a hunt.

In the thick of a hunt, Dean never needed to use words to let Sammy know what to do. They would share a look, a raised eyebrow or maybe a small head motion and a whole plan was laid out, changed, and then confirmed.

It was like a deadly bloody ballet in which they would end the lives of their enemies – if Dean was idiot enough to think like that. Which he wasn't.

But the day would most likely come when Dean would see his… When he would see the boy he had raised into a man. A man who didn't want him. Who could look at Dean and see nothing but failure and wrong and selfishness.

Dean needed a plan. He refused to stand before Sam and look weak. He would not blink and he would absolutely not say something stupid. Which meant most likely that he wouldn't say anything at all. Like, what the hell do you say to somebody who didn't even want to be your family?

That kind of rejection was really not the kind of stuff that got shrugged off.

In reality, or at least Dean's reality, that was the stuff that laid the foundation for the type of rage that kick started wars and laid whole cities to waste. It was the type of rage that caused a man to literally scorch the earth behind him. He was Sherman on his march from Atlanta to Savannah. He was William the Conqueror laying waste to northern England.

He was trying to control the pain that fed into the anger that led to him intimately understand the phrase "seeing red". The lust for vengeance and blood was growing in him.

How dare Sam!

So what did Dean want? How did he get it? And most importantly, how did he set things up so that whatever happened, he managed to control the rage that was building up inside him whenever his thoughts strayed towards the betrayer? How did he still the hand that itched to end the man who rejected him?

Dean ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh that felt like it had been building for days. This wasn't him. He pulled the dog-eared notebook he'd taken to carrying around with him and noted the date, the time, and what he had been doing:

_Feb. 16, 2014. 22:54 – work on detailing changes & new abilities. *images of destruction & blood & Sam dead. Poss. MoC?_

MoC – Mark of Cain. More and more, his notes contained that notation with a question mark at the end. Anything that didn't fit with previously normal behavior made it to the list, and a concerning number of entries ended with MoC?.

It wasn't a long list, but it was long enough.

Any list that included laying his baby brother out in a pool of blood was too long. Wait – not his baby brother. Fuck. Dean hated this.

It was like a buzzing in the back of his head. Never stopped, never loud enough to actually hear. He had to plan what would happen when he saw Sam again, or… He was certain, with a mind numbing dread, that Sam wouldn't survive the meeting.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Cas was an asshole.

That was about the long and short of it. Not to put too fine a point on it, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, was a mean asshole with zero ability to act in any way compassionate about anything. Ever. This was pay back or something. Had to be.

Cas knew it would be uncomfortable for Dean to come back to the Bunker. Uncomfortable? Understatement. Dean felt like his skin was crawling with the unwanted memories of Sam laughing when Dean practiced fencing in a bathrobe. Memories of standing in the kitchen and arguing good naturedly about what toppings worked best on homemade pizza. And worst, memories of how happy Sam had been to find this fucking place with its unending depths of research for him to fall into.

The fact that Sam was out of town didn't even help at all.

Granted, the Bunker held the best info, and while it was true he needed said info to figure out a different way to track down the First Blade… Fuck Crowley. If he could have just found the damn thing none of this would be necessary.

Dean pushed a book off the edge of the table. The thud as it hit the floor was enough to startle Cas. Good – asshole angels shouldn't rest easy in this place. The guilt of even tricking Dean into coming here should be eating the angel up at this point.

A brief image of razing the whole Bunker with Sam and Cas trapped inside flashed through the hunter's mind in such vivid detail… He had to physically shake his head to clear the vision of utter destruction from his mind's eye.

How screwed up was it that Dean, who fought through hell and back to keep his fractured family together, now felt the urge to lay waste to this place. The Bunker was the closest thing they'd had to a home in so long – may as well say it was the only home they'd ever had. Well, 'cept for Baby.

And that was just another sore point. Baby sat in the garage floors below him gathering dust because Sam Fuckhead reminded him of a time in his life he thought he'd been happy. Hehehe. Sam Fuckhead. It's what Dean had taken to calling Sam.

Or just Fuckhead. FH.

"Shut that phone up," Dean grunted as Cas' ring tone shattered the silence that had settled between them after the last echoes of the book quieted.

The angel stood up and walked towards the stairs that would lead him outside.

Good. The less Dean had to look at his stupid backstabbing face the better.

"Hello." Dean heard Cas answer the phone in his typical socially awkwardly way.

"Yes. Give me a moment," Cas said as his voice grew quieter.

Sam.

Mr. Fuckhead himself was calling Dean's angel. How perfectly annoyingly typical. Dean has something nice and good, and dumbass Sam wants to steal it.

Dean sat looking at the amber liquid sitting in the bottom of the tumbler next to the books scattered around in complete disarray as he finally forced himself to stop for just a few minutes.

He knew Sam was calling for help or something. FH only ever reached out to take – to demand things he had no right to expect.

Sam needed help? The betrayer needed something from him? He gave everything, and it was never enough – or it was always too much. Either way, Dean had no way to win in this life. Not with the ungrateful bastard that dared to call himself a Winchester.

What a damned joke. He knew they would see each other again. Sam would walk through that door as cool as a cucumber and expect Dean to patiently explain or apologize or whatever pansy ass story his little twisted mind had thought up.

Unfortunately, there were these urges building up in Dean. A flash of Sam lying on the floor, throat slit wide. Or a half-heard scream for mercy – of which there would be none. The motion picture playing on a never ending loop in his head of Sam on his knees in front of Dean begging for another chance, and Dean callously smiling as he brought the first blade down in an arc that barely missed his brother's throat – but managed to cut off those locks he was so fucking proud of.

Piles of hair floating to the floor, sticking in the growing puddle of urine that would trickle down Sam's leg. His sobbing would ring like a Heavenly chorus in Dean's ears. The Betrayer being given his just desserts.

The images and thoughts bombarded him all the time; they got stronger the longer Dean's arm bore the Mark. He had tried to rid himself of the bloody violent thoughts, but it seemed as natural as breathing – this ever growing need to hurt Sam.

Dean tossed the remaining liquor back and reached for the bottle. Only one way to quiet those voices lately. He had promised himself he wouldn't give in to the desire to pick up a weapon against his brother.

While hundreds of promises, thousands even, lay in a broken trail behind him, this one wasn't optional.

It just couldn't be – Dean Winchester didn't do what Heaven or Hell wanted him to do. He certainly didn't have to give in to a fucking Mark on his arm.

**S-S-S-S-S**

"Hello Sam," Cas said after he closed the door. It was difficult to be the room with Dean for any extended period of time. The anger rolled off him in waves; it was very disturbing.

"Heya' Cas – Look, I have this lead on this case, but I need some back up," Sam cut straight to the point.

"I will come to you directly," Cas prepared to leave.

"No – no angel mojo. I think it would tip off whatever the hell I'm dealing with. You think you might ask him?" Sam asked quietly. Cas' Grace ached with pain for the two brothers.

"I will see what I can do Sam," he tried to put as much optimism in his voice as possible. There was very little chance of Dean coming to the aid of his younger brother. The man who was once the infant he carried to safety from a blazing inferno that stole their mother.

"Yeah, get back to me, ok?" Sam said before they signed off.

Cas tried to order his thoughts as he walked in. The arguments he knew would have swayed Dean in the past would be useless now. Worse, they would cement Dean's resistance to helping.

He could perhaps lie to Dean to secure his assistance, but that had even more possible down sides.

There were very few things Cas felt sure about these days. Ever since Dean walked away from the life he had built here, the angel just did not know what to expect.

"Let me guess: Sammy?" Dean did not even bother to look up.

"He needs back up with the case he is currently working on, and…" Cas trailed off. Dean had grabbed a scrap of paper and was writing something down.

"Here," the hunter pushed what turned out to be a phone number into Cas' hand. "He's based nearby."

"I believe Sam was hoping you would come and assist on this," Cas hedged. It could have been his imagination, but Dean appeared very uncomfortable with hearing his brother's name.

"And I keep hoping unicorns shit gold glitter, but neither of us seem to get what we want these days."

"I do not understand Dean – unicorns do not provide glitter of any color in lieu of excrement," Cas feared he would never get the hang of human speech patterns.

"They also aren't real dude," Dean rolled his eyes. Oh.

"Very well, I will relay the number to Sam," Cas frowned. There it was again; Dean had the smallest flitch when the younger hunter's name was spoken.

Interesting.

**S-S-S-S-S**

A freaking phone number.

Dean couldn't even be bothered to come out and cover his own brother's back now. Wait, that sounded wrong… Dean had always had his back until Sam told him they couldn't be brothers anymore.

Because Sam was an idiot!

"'Lo?" came the tired voice from the other end.

"Hi. This is Sam Winchester. I was given your number by-"

"What in the name of seven hells is that fool brother of yours up to now?" the man didn't even let Sam finish his introduction.

"Oh. I have no idea. He generally does what he wants?" Sam really didn't want to air dirty laundry to a complete stranger. Especially when everything was dirty because of him.

"Ha!" the man gave a half laugh. "That sounds about like him."

"I'm sorry; I don't actually know-"

."Oh yeah. I'm Thomas out of Washington state, what can I do for ya' Sammy?"

"Um, it's Sam," he said automatically.

"Whatever man – I know you by Sammy. Dean's a big ol' softie when he'd talk about you at Harvard back in the day. Harvard? Wherever. So whatchya' need?" Thomas asked again.

"Oh, I'm in Kansas, and I needed some back up," Sam felt like he'd been knocked upside the back of his head with a baseball bat. Dean used to talk about him – been proud of him.

He was a fucking idiot.

"I dunno' – it'd take me a few days to get out there," the man said.

"Yeah, it's kind of a time sensitive thing," Sam wished he'd never called. The guilt over everything that was going on with Dean felt about a million times worse right now.

"I feel ya'. So… What's the skinny on this whole Dean's the new consort of the King of Hell? He's not seriously screwing a demon is he?" Thomas chuckled as if screwing a demon was just beyond stupid.

And it was stupid - Sam had sort of proved he was beyond stupid several time in the past…

The second the silence tipped from just long enough into too long, Sam knew he'd confirmed too much. Just another reason for Dean to hate him.

"Do you know anybody closer?" Sam asked trying to keep his voice upbeat.

"To be honest, the Winchesters are a little too risky to get involved with at this point. The hunter network has basically put the two of you on the blacklist until this shit is over. Sorry man," Thomas did sound genuinely upset about that.

And yeah, Sam could see how after everything that had gone down in the past that the two of them would be too dangerous now. He said his goodbyes and stopped to think before doing anything else.

Maybe if he'd stepped back and thought about things in an adult manner they might not be so screwed up now.

Pulling the phone out of his pocket, Sam called the only person who currently might help him.

"Hello Sam," Cas said with a flat voice. Well, Sam didn't say anything about being friendly.

"Yeah, that number Dean gave me-," Sam heard a change in the background noise.

"I put you on speakerphone," Cas said.

"Ah," Sam, like every other person in the world, hated speakerphones.

"I did it myself," the angel sounded proud. "Dean is here with me. With speakerphone, I will not have to repeat the conversation."

"Right," Sam rolled his eyes with a little smile. Okay, Cas learning how technology worked was a little cute.

"This is a very useful feature. I am not sure why you do not employ it more often."

"Right – so Thomas couldn't help. Dean? You think you could get out here?" Sam dared to speak directly to his brother.

"Busy," was the only response Sam got. But…

Just the sound of his big brother's voice made him breathe easier. Like it was proof he was still alive or something equally girly.

"Come on, don't be so obsessive with research," Sam said. Dean had said that so many times…

"Let loose and take a break by killing a couple of big bads," Sam tried to lighten the mood a little by poking at Dean.

"What you call being obsessed, I call doing my job," Dean said before the phone went dead.

Well, teasing was clearly the wrong tack to take.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean slammed the heavy glass on the old scarred bar top as he motioned to for another shot. He could almost hear his liver screaming in protest, but the hard stuff was the only thing that even muffled the rage at all.

Rage. Was there a stronger word? It didn't matter anymore what he did to distract himself. Pool? Cards? The whole time he would just have a never ending tape running in the back of his head of having Sam flat on his back with blood spraying and screams echoing through his head.

He was almost completely positive it was the Mark, but it didn't seem to matter. The urge to hurt just got stronger. Maybe it was perverse, but Dean hated doing what was expected of him. After following orders all his life from his Dad, Bobby, other hunters, Heaven, and even Hell sometimes… Well, he could screw up some supernatural pre-ordained destiny; that sounded like an excellent idea.

The phone next to him buzzed quietly. There was no name, but Dean knew the number belonged to Sam. He'd deleted the contacts, but he couldn't seem to delete the memory of programming them in.

"What?" he answered the unwanted call. Fuckhead would just keep calling and further ruin Dean's buzz with more visions of torturing the kid he all but raised.

"Cas gave me this number; I really need some help out here man," Sam started.

"One, Cas did not give you this number. Two, I'm busy," Dean swallowed a finger of the whiskey.

"Okay, so I may have snooped his phone – Ya' know, path of least resistance?" Sam gave a nervous chuckle. "I've got a handful of people acting like I did when I was soulless, remember that?"

God, the kid was trying so hard…

"Soulless Sam? Yeah, how can I forget?" Dean muttered and motioned for another shot. The bartender was giving him a look that told Dean he was about to get cut off.

Fuck.

"Look, I could really use your help here –"

"Can't drop the ball here," Dean said before pressing the end call button.

He looked at his phone and scrolled through the contacts until it showed Crowley's number. He tapped call, but just as quickly ended. He didn't really want to talk to the jerk – he just needed…

"You're lying to Sam like he's your wife," Crowley said as he slid into the chair next to Dean without an invitation. Of course, the King of Hell rarely waited for an invitation to do anything.

"Which kinda' makes me the mistress," he smirked.

"What do you need?" Dean asked.

"You called me," the demon smirked.

"I got everything under control. I only kill for a reason," Dean wondered if punching Crowley in public would get him arrested or a medal.

"What's in that bottle? Delusion?" Crowley asked incredulously.

"Fuck off asshat," was the hunter's less than elegant reply. Damn it, he wished he could write that comment down. Delusion – that was a good one. Well, not when it was said to him obviously, but if Dean said it to somebody else it would be hilarious.

Crowley stood up and adjusted his jacket.

"Where you going?"

"Just going to water the lily. Care to cross streams?" the demon leered.

Dean snorted and shook his head. Idiot. As if Dean would ever be into pee play.

"Why so serious?" Crowley tossed over his shoulder as he waltzed towards the back of the bar.

"Whatever Joker," Dean rolled his eyes and then grinned. "Wait, that would make me Batman."

He would make an awesome Batman.

**S-S-S-S-S**

There was very little that would indicate Dean had ever been in the Bunker. Very few books had been moved, all the beer was still in the fridge, and even Sam's notes sat undisturbed. Whatever Dean had been researching, it hadn't been anything Sam was working on.

Crap.

Not many times in the past had Sam been so unmotivated to bury his nose in a book. Right now he just wanted somebody to talk to. Bounce ideas off of. Dean had always been that person – yet another way Sam had taken advantage of his brother.

Did Sam ever really sit patiently when Dean needed somebody to talk to?

Probably not.

He'd tried to call Dean; honestly, he was rather surprised Dean hadn't hung up the second he heard Sam's voice. That was improvement, right?

He needed Dean's help right now – this lead on the Men of Letters massacre; this guy Magnus seemed promising. Some documents suggested he'd followed the same trail and may have found it. Sam felt pretty sure he knew where the First Blade was now. But it wasn't going to be easy to get into the place and even harder to get the thing out.

Only one option…

"Cas, you said to not bother you unless I found some information on the First Blade, and I think I have," Sam looked around the Bunker, but no mussy haired angel showed up.

It usually worked when Dean did it; of course, Cas actually liked Dean.

"I think I know where the First Blade is," Sam raised his voice.

"Where?" came the deep voice to his right.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean had stood next to Cas with a growing pit of wrath churning in his stomach.

He had not wanted, under any circumstances, to rescue the Fuckhead. On the other hand, he'd wanted the First Blade with a passion that was starting to consume him.

In the end, it hadn't been that much of a fight. Well, it hadn't been a fight for Dean. Turned out one of the awesome little side effects of Cain's Mark was to fuck around with magic being used against you. The look of confused outrage on that douchebag's face before Dean wielded the blade and lopped his head off would keep him warm at night.

Power sizzled along his nerves as an unholy light pulsed up his arm from the blade to the Mark.

"Dean, go ahead and put it down," he heard the Betrayer say.

His vision seemed to tunnel down the point where the only thing he could see was the First Blade. He saw it dripping with blood and offal from Cain's past. He swore he could sense the Blade's desire to bury itself in a traitor. The thirst for justice and violent righteousness.

The Righteous Man, the Mark of Cain, and the First Blade. Sounded like the title of a badly written pulp fiction from the fifties.

Or the holy trinity of unstoppable wrath.

And it burned. The Blade burned as he held it. The sound in his ears… he could hear the screams of people being tortured. If there was anything Dean was well versed in, it was recognizing the screams of the damned. He might have been able to handle it if that was all, but it was only the beginning.

Fresh spilled blood had a certain smell to it. A tang that you could never forget – the smell overwhelmed Dean. Sam's blood. He wanted the smell of Sam's blood filling the air, pooling on the floor, and spraying hot and wet over his hands.

Just the idea of stripping the skin off the Betrayer and avenging the wrong done against him. The one person who deserved a fate worse than death was standing right in front of him, his liquid eyes just begging for the agony to end.

But Dean wouldn't end it – not quickly anyway. He'd learned how to draw the pain out, how to press until the pain consumed his prey and nothing else existed.

He looked over at his angel and the Betrayer before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Dean dropped the blade to the floor – the clatter momentarily covering the sound of panicked breathing from others. There wasn't enough mojo in the world to force Dean Winchester into doing something didn't want to do.

Looking at the traitor, Dean frowned and kicked the First Blade towards him for safer keeping. Knowing you wouldn't do something and tempting yourself were two different things.

"I won't make the same mistake and save you again, but I won't end you either," Dean said before turning to Cas and motioning for him to get them the fuck out of here.

He needed a drink. Maybe it was time to take a lesson from Cas and find a whole liquor store.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Circles. Endless loops repeating over and over. Nothing changing except names and reasons.

Cain watched the bees dance around their hives and nodded his head thoughtfully. Dean Winchester was certainly not what he had seemed. At first glance, the headstrong hunter had seemed so like Cain that it was breathtaking.

But even now, at this very moment, the man was steeling himself to prevent the same outcome for a brother who didn't want him anymore. Cain had made different choices, obviously, but this story…

It was time for a little trip to Hell. Maybe Lucifer in his cage would have some insight into the Winchesters. Cain hadn't been active for millennia, but when a Knight of Hell wanted something, even the leaders tended to sit up a little straighter.

**S-S-S-S-S**

**AN:**

I know this is a mixture of 9.16 and 9.17 and it's messed up. I had zero intention of following anything past the original episode I based everything on, but there have been some interesting things pop up that did fit, just not in order or exact canon.

So, no promises to include anything in future episodes unless I like it and it fits the end of our tale that's already outlined =)

**Scorched Earth policy** – military strategy of destroying anything of use when your army moves through an area – food, utilities, transportation, and even people.

**General Sherman - ** Famously marched from Atlanta to Savannah GA towards the end of the American Civil War and burned everything in his wake.

**William the Conqueror – **Normand King of England (1066) in 1069 his army slaughtered livestock, burned houses, and led to a famine that killed more than 100k.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_**As you pray in your darkness, for wings to set you free, you are bound to your silent legacy **__– Melissa Etheridge_

**S-S-S-S-S**

AN – So, I don't do this, but I'm going to. Which means I do. A song from 1993 – it's crazy how well the lyrics fit. Also – Crowley and Dean?

Also – There's an outtake that's more Mature (Crowley and Dean)

**S-S-S-S-S**

Crowley wasn't exactly sure where he was, but at the moment, he was more concerned with his company.

"I'm not interrupting anything am I gentleman?" the demon asked. Dean and his moronic angel were standing too close and staring at each other.

"Go away demon," Castiel said without looking away from Dean.

"What's up Crowley?" the hunter spoke after his angel, obviously not pleased with Cas' dismissal. The fucking butterflies that seemed to take flight in Crowley's stomach were bloody annoying.

"Did I step into a lover's spat?"

"Nah," Dean said and looked away from Castiel. Well, that was promising. Nothing like taking attention away from a pompous angelic spaz.

"We were not finished Dean," Sparkles said with a whine.

"You have no idea how done we are Cas," Dean was looking right at Crowley now.

"Dean-"

"Go Cas. I'm sure Sam needs you or something," the hunter's lips curved up into a predatory smirk. There was not a lack of willing demons and humans to warm Crowley's bed, but that look… The look of lust for _him_ and not his power – that was unusual.

"We were in the middle of –"

"I was passing the time waiting for Crowley. Leave," Dean tossed over his shoulder.

"You are going to regret this Dean Winchester," the angel spat before fucking off to Elysium Fields or where ever it was his kind sat around and passed judgment.

Dean all but sauntered over to Crowley and stood right in front of him. It was dizzying to have him so close that Crowley could easily feel the warm puffs of air from Dean's breathing. His body heat radiated out – perhaps dizzying wasn't the correct word. Dizzy - Faint. Giddy. Addled. Dazed. Aroused.

Yes, most definitely aroused. Who wouldn't be? Dean was strong, brave, and wily in his own way.

There was very little chance that this meant what Crowley wished it meant, but… Well, one could always hope couldn't they?

"So, what can I do for you pussycat?" Crowley offered in the steadiest voice he could manage. To his everlasting shame, it cracked at the end. Fucking Dean, smelling good and looking at Crowley like he wanted to dip him in chocolate and eat him whole.

Actually, he could rather get on board with that idea.

"Come here," Dean said as he grabbed the demon's hand and pulled them both over to the single chair that sat in the middle of the room. Where the hell had the chair come from? Weren't Dean and Cas sitting on a couch earlier?

Whatever. Maybe the feathered fucker had started rearranging furniture, or stealing it, or whatever angels did to be passive aggressive.

"Love, not that I'm complaining, but-"

"Then don't complain; just let me have my way," Dean's smile should really be banned. Of course, banning it would only increase the attraction for a damned demon. Bollocks.

Dean sat in the chair and with a single swift tug pulled Crowley sideway into the hunter's lap.

"If this is giving you your way, I'm not going complain – just wondering what your boyfriend would say," Crowley teased to gain a moment to collect his thoughts. What the hell was Winchester playing at? Another deal in the works maybe? Buttering him up perhaps?

"I don't know… What _do_ you think Fergus?" Dean asked in a low voice; his eyes watched ever movement of the demons lips.

"Now, wait a minute," Crowley started. He really should have something to say. Fergus? Fucking really?

Dean's smile turned into something out of one of Crowley's dirtiest dreams. The hunter licked his lips before leaving them slightly parted. He pulled Crowley down and kissed him.

This wasn't the standard let's seal a deal kiss. This wasn't in exchange for anything – not power or money, there was no underlying agenda that Crowley could detect. Dean was cupping the back of his neck and holding him close, licking his way inside, and absolutely plunging the demon's mouth.

"Come on, baby," Dean murmured against Crowley's lips. The demon wasn't exactly sure the particulars of what Dean was asking for, but the hand that landed on his knee wasn't exactly subtle.

"Hold on," Crowley said as he started to rearrange himself. This would be infinitely better if he was actually facing Dean and straddling that phenomenally marvelous body.

By the time Crowley managed to sit himself down, legs on either side of those hard thighs, Dean had grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him down. Words almost failed him… Dean assaulted his mouth – lips sucked his lip before biting the flesh and pulling lightly. There was nothing gentle or slow about this.

"Touch me you fucker," Dean growled against the demon's mouth before reaching around and grabbing his ass with both hands. It wasn't like Crowley was opposed to touching the hunter – he'd just been caught off guard by all this…

"Of course," Crowley hated the way his voice betrayed the desperate need when one of those long fingers ran along the waist band of his pants.

Reaching out, the King of Hell ran his hand down Dean's chiseled chest. It may have been a little clichéd, but those muscles were perfect in every way.

"Damn, feels good," Dean muttered before reaching behind his head and pulling the shirt off in one smooth move.

And there it was… the object of Crowley's rather focused affection of late in all his smooth, defined, and lickable glory. It was not often that demon's got their corrupted heart's desire, but just this once Crowley had no intention of questioning whatever force that led them to this moment.

"More," was all Dean got out before Crowley followed the breathy order and his greedy hands over the planes of flesh on display in front of him. The skin was hot under his palms, and the way Dean rolled his hips clearly expressed the hunter's pleasure with being touched like this.

Dean clasped the demon's wrist and pulled until his fingers were brushing over a nipple. Crowley took the hint and rolled it a couple of times before tweaking it.

"Fuck Baby," Dean groaned as he thrust his hips up again to flat out grind against Crowley.

Now, it wasn't a surprise that Crowley had been more than half hard just from having Dean stand so close to him with that look in those green eyes… But this – feeling the hunter's erection pressing against Crowley's was beyond exquisite.

The demon wrapped his arms around his hunter and pulled their chests flush before kissing those swollen lips once more. He planted small kisses on Dean's cheek, then along the line of his prickly jaw, as he worked his way over to flick his tongue over the green eyed man's earlobe.

"No idea, Crowley – been thinkin' about this. Can't stop…" Dean said with a groan as he let his hands wander down Crowley's back until they settled on the demon's hips.

"Do go on," Crowley purred. The sound of Dean's voice when he was coming undone like this was amazing. To give a little encouragement, Crowley nipped the earlobe a little harder.

"More you fucker," Dean demanded as he pulled Crowley's hips down harder.

"More I can do," Crowley reassured him before his lips closed around the base of Dean's neck. Right where he had left his hickey at the beginning of this craziness to ward Sparkles from finding the hunter was a faint brown mark. It was all that remained of the magic Crowley had used.

This time, Crowley didn't have his lips on the hunter's neck for anything but mutual pleasure. He brought his teeth down in a harsh bite and started sucking.

Dean gripped Crowley's hips hard enough to bruise – it would be the work of only a thought to banish the marks, but Crowley had no intention of removing a single mark his hunter wanted to leave on him.

"Harder," Dean demanded as he thrust up into Crowley's lap. The King of Hell closed his eyes and sunk into the moment. It wasn't very often he allowed himself to feel anything other than anger, rage, artifice, or any of the other seven deadly sins… But right now – right now he felt light.

Happy. Content. The hunter under him was not only willingly, he was perfect in every way. Responding to Crowley's every desire before it was even fully formed in his head…

Which didn't make any sense really -

"Bloody Hell!" Crowley opened his eyes; the room he was in swam into focus.

It had been Dean Winchester's blood. Human blood got him high as the proverbial kite; the hunter's blood seemed to affect him like a pure hit of the finest drug human ingenuity had ever created.

Not only was it a damned disappointment, he was now hard.

"Got to get off the smegging blood," Crowley growled into the empty room as he took his not so little problem in hand.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Crowley frowned as he sat in the middle of a grubby bar that most certainly hadn't seen the passing side of a health inspection in an age. Dean had been less than pleased when the demon had taken the First Blade and told the brothers and their slutty angel that he would be holding the damned blade in his own safe keeping until it was needed to kill the bitch trying to dethrone him.

But the hunter wasn't even looking the slighted bit pissed. Well, pissed in the traditional sense anyway.

It was… worrisome. That might be the best phrase.

Crowley looked at the hunter closely. Most likely, nobody would ever notice the slight widening of his stance or the way his eyes moved in and out of focus. It wasn't obvious by any stretch of the imagination, but it was there. Dean had obviously been hitting the bottle harder than was healthy.

Which left the Demon king with a few options. First, he could sober the prat up; he could come back later, or he could take complete advantage of the lowered inhibitions.

"Come on pussycat, let's have a seat," Crowley motioned towards the sofa against the wall in the small office. It was quiet enough back here that conversation wouldn't be interrupted, but the music from the club was still a constant thumping in his body.

"Tell me all about it," he offered once the green eyed man sat down right next to Crowley.

"The blade man – it just… It shows you visions of crap. Like Hell, only on Earth. Death and murder. I can hear it too. So, I drink," he shrugged.

"Drinking works?"

"It stops me from wanting to find Sam and sticking a knife in his spine. So yes, it works," Dean rubbed his face.

"So it's not the drinking you need, it's a way to forget?" Crowley wracked his brain. His blood was singing with desire to touch the man next to him. Fucking crush and all that.

"Yeah," the hunter sighed.

"I had a dream you might be interested in hearing about love," the King of Hell grinned to himself. He didn't think the Righteous Man would take him up on it, but a seed planted sometimes grew.

**S-S-S-S-S**

_**Why did you steal the matches from the one room motel?**_

Cain walked through the freezing depths of Hell towards the cage that held Lucifer. He'd known this path very well at one point – in theory nothing changes in Hell, but running along the ground were two thin cords. One was orange and the other was black.

The orange one was clearly an extension cord; Cain briefly wondered what they had in Hell that required power.

Of all the things humanity had done, most of the interesting things required power – maybe Morning Star had decided that people weren't utter parasitic scum to be burned from the earth.

_**Once they gave you answers; now they give you Hell.**_

"Ah, the prodigal son returns. You think you might be a dear and pop the lock for us?" Michael smiled with his false cheer. Cain had never liked him.

"Shut up Mike," Lucifer grunted as he stood up and walked to the bars of his prison. "I'm afraid I can't offer you any hospitably, but you're not here for that are you?"

"Michael?" Cain vaguely knew there had been an aborted apocalypse, but he'd refused to even listen to the details.

"He's locked in here with me. Can't kill each other either; its punishment. I thought it was awful before, but now I have to share with the most pompous and self-righteous prick –"

"Dear Father in Heaven! You have no room to besmirch my character!" Michael started. "Who are you to cast stones? You were already accustomed to these surroundings – I, however, was ripped from the Host and that warmth, love, and light."

"Shut the fuck up before I puke on your shoes. Again," Lucifer called over his shoulder.

"I will tell all your minions about that one time in Heaven when you begged Father to let you-," Michael's face was a storm of fury.

"I swear to all that is unholy, if you finish that thought I will spend the rest of my days letting the demons poke sharp sticks at you!" Lucifer rolled his eyes. Seemed like they'd been in here a little while to descend into this level of snark.

They were like two nine year olds stuck in the backseat of an overheated car on a long road trip. Cain was fairly positive Michael wasn't in the cage the last time he'd visited.

Sometimes angels did strange things.

_**They will never understand - They wonder where did they go wrong?**_

"I had a question," Cain interrupts before they start throwing punches.

"Of course," Michael tilted his head for the Knight to continue before Lucifer even had a chance to speak.

"I want to know more about Dean Winchester."

To say the explosion of loud cursing was shocking, would be an understatement. Both Archangels started pacing in the cage, clenching their fists and agreeing, for possibly the first time in recorded history, that Dean Winchester was an impressively creative God awful blight.

"He's a pain in the fucking ass," Lucifer cursed before spitting on the ground in disgust.

"I-," Michael clearly wasn't pleased with the language his brother had used. "I wish I could say I disagree with Luci, but it's true. He's awful at following any plans. Just a corruption of what he was meant to be."

"Stop calling me Luci," Lucifer kicked the back of his brother's knee causing it to buckle.

"Stop kicking me!" Michael yelled back.

"Winchesters mess everything up. If you think they're going to turn right, they'll stop, dig a hole, jump in it, and then call a pet angel for help. How do you plan for that crap?" Lucifer ranted.

"I had the highest hopes for Sam Winchester – he would have made a stunning meat suit."

_**How could you be so selfish - Why can't you get along?**_

"So why are _you_ so interested in Dean Winchester?" Michael asked with all the subtlety of a middle school girl.

"A couple of different answers to that…," Cain hedged. He hadn't even thought about the elder Winchester's sexual proclivities.

"He doesn't swing your way dear Cain," Lucifer mocked him.

"It's not that. I gave him the Mark and –,"

"You did what?" Michael asked with cold steel beneath his voice.

"Oh, this is too good!" Morning Star crowed. "I get a new Knight of Hell, Dean offs his brother as per the curse, and Michael can never have his less attractive meat suit!"

It was rather disturbing to watch the devil dance in that small cage even if he was doing so with more grace than Cain had ever seen.

"Yes and no," the first Knight of Hell replied.

"Explain yourself," Michael was angry. Any angrier and he would have steam coming from his ears like a comic book character.

"He is denying the curse. He had the opportunity to kill Sam Winchester, and he walked away. I want to know exactly how the curse works, and why he can refuse it," Cain said.

When Cain had first received his Mark, Lucifer had appeared to him and made promises. Promised to channel the rage of the curse into a tool.

"Messed up our divine plan to remake the Earth," Michael muttered behind Lucifer.

_**And as you pray in your darkness always to set you free you are bound to your silent legacy**_

Lucifer and Cain had always gotten along rather well, all things considered. It was one of the reasons it had been so easy to accept Lucifer's offer to become a Knight of Hell. The Mark had come with power, but no focus.

A curse in every way.

"You do remember an apocalypse would have killed everything, right? What's the point of if there's nothing left at the end?" Cain asked. He'd always wondered why these two wanted to destroy each other and watch the world burn in the process.

"The time of man's reign was supposed to be over. Time for the supernatural to walk the Earth," Lucifer was the first to answer. Judging by the look of horror on Michael's face, that wasn't the Host's plan at all.

"It was meant to purge the Earth of the unholy and remake man. Another flood event if you will. Though without water. Father promised to never use water again," Michael rolled his eyes as if that had been a stupid promise to make.

"I guess it will depend on which one of us wins," Lucifer said with uncharacteristic diplomacy.

"Speaking of which – Cain, do me a favor and use that jawbone to try and break the lock? We've tried everything else we can think of," Michael glared at the complex locking mechanism that seemed to shift even as you looked at it.

"That has to be the stupidest thing I've heard from your mouth in at least an hour," Morning Star punched his brother square in the arm. Judging from the gasp of pain, he'd managed to hit a nerve dead on.

"Stop it! I'm not your personal punching bag," Michael took a swing, but Lucifer was ready and simply ducked.

"I don't currently have the jaw," Cain said hoping to break up the impending fight.

_**You've seen it in the movies and heard it on the street **_

In the silence that followed, Cain realized it sounded like he'd lost the First Blade while on a fishing trip.

"I threw it in the ocean," he expanded when the two brothers continued to look at him with disbelief.

"I had heard a rumor to that effect, although I had assumed it was incorrect. Who would willingly give up use of the most powerful blade in history?" Michael looked at his brother with ill-concealed glee. The fallen angel was seething with fury.

"Do you have any idea how hard I worked to find that damned thing in the first place? The first murder weapon – and you hid it after killing your brother," Lucifer started pacing the small confines of the cage.

"I didn't ask you to find it," Cain pointed out, secure in the knowledge that Lucifer couldn't touch him while in the cage.

"And you threw it away _again_?" Morning Star continued as if Cain hadn't spoken. "You threw it away a second time."

"Almost sounds like it should stay gone," Michael unhelpfully added.

"It's going to be a pain in the ass to find again," Lucifer said while ignoring his brother.

"Ah…" Cain briefly thought about not telling the brothers about Dean having the blade.

"What did you do this time?" Michael asked. He'd always been such a pretentious twit.

"I believe the First Blade has been recovered and is currently in the elder Winchester's possession. Hence my question about them," Cain tried to remind the brothers why he was there.

_**Craving the affection; your blood is full of heat**_

"Things were so much easier in Heaven," Michael sighed and sat on the bare floor and pulled a battered laptop toward him. Well, that explained the cords. Power and internet.

"Shut up," Lucifer kicked the other archangel in the side. The grunt wasn't followed by any reaction except a raised finger.

Seemed like the leader of Heaven had picked up a few bad habits from the leader of Hell.

"I wouldn't know," Cain said with a little bitterness in his voice. It still bothered him that after so much time, he'd never been given the forgiveness that all other humans had been offered.

_**They don't listen to your reasons as original as sin; **_

Even after the murder, after that horrible moment when his brother lay dead at his feet, Cain had known God would forsake him. He just didn't know it would be to the extent it turned out to be…

When Cain had tried to plead his case – to explain that Able was planning on making a deal with demons, God had refused to consider any of it. None of the pleas from Cain had made a difference. It wasn't until the birth of the Son of God that Cain had finally understood the truth –

It didn't matter what Cain had said; God had needed an example for humanity, and Cain fit the bill perfectly. No amount of pleading or reasoning was going to make a difference.

Cain was a good example of the punishment their Father could deal out; that had been the main reason God had dealt so harshly with him.

_**Deny all that you feel, and they will bring you home again.**_

Asking forgiveness? No. That was a privilege reserved for the rest of humanity, not for Cain. Not for the first born son of man who murdered his younger sibling. Never for him.

Then Christ's blood had offered a beacon of hope. Bathing in the blood of the Son of God who died on the cross for the sins of man so they could rise to Heaven untouched by their sins – sounded more than perfect to Cain.

He had traveled to Galilee and sought out the healing touch of Christ himself. It had done no good – his soul was still consigned to the living Hell he'd been in since the rise of man.

_**And as you pray in your darkness always to set you free you are bound to your silent legacy**_

"So, the Winchesters?" Cain prompted them. It was time to get the answers he travelled down here to find.

"They are… less than accommodating," Michael allowed.

"They do whatever they want and don't two shits about the grand plans that they were selected for," Lucifer expanded.

"I do sometimes wonder if they could be the key to getting out of here though," the fallen archangel pondered.

"If it was possible to break into a cage Father set up to contain archangels, the Winchesters would be the ones to find a way to do it…" Michael said thoughtfully.

"Even if it wasn't possible, they'd find away," Lucifer muttered.

Cain could see the two brothers hated and admired the Winchesters. It was an odd mix, but having watched Dean for a while, Cain could understand.

"Do you think we could get their help? Not directly of course, but arrange things so they would need us out?" Michael asked.

"No," Cain answered without pausing to think about it.

_**Your body's alive but no one told you what you'd feel**_

"Now Cain, don't be that way," Lucifer said with that awful smirk.

"They wouldn't let you out – it's pretty simple."

"But you are already on terms with the elder Winchester, right?" Lucifer started his pitch. "It wouldn't be too difficult to create a scenario where he would need one or both of us to help him in some ill thought out attempt at saving the world or humans or whatever he valued most at the time."

Michael was looking at Lucifer with a cross between horror and admiration. The two of them were two sides of the same coin – both equally awful.

Cain remembered how much he'd disliked working for Lucifer back in the day. Being sent to different areas around the world to see new lands and then kill the people who lived there. Or torture them. Or lay waste.

The power that had come with being a Knight of Hell was incredible. Over whelming and terrible and awe inspiring. In his heart though… In his heart, Cain wasn't evil. He didn't crave power; he didn't want to have the power of life and death in the palm of his hand.

He had looked for a silver lining in the job, but after Abaddon had tricked him into killing his love…

_**The empty aching hours trying to conceal**_

"I gave him the Mark – he asked for it. So I guess we have terms. He also agreed to end me at my request," Cain nodded. Was it 'terms' if you put someone's soul in peril to get revenge on a demon?

"Of course you did," Michael rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me?" there weren't many people that would dare to taunt a Knight of Hell. Cain was use to kicking the living shit out of things that annoyed him.

Would he be more damned for stabbing an archangel in a cage? They didn't have any powers to speak of, so it might be his only chance to poke the tiger in his cage.

Not like God could really make things worse, right?

"Let me get this straight – Dean Winchester now has the Mark of Cain and you're planning a retirement that pulls your piece off the board completely?" Lucifer rubbed between his eyes.

"In that case, I might I wish you a speedy death?" Michael offered with fake sympathy.

"Hey Michael? Gabe never liked you and peed in your coffee every morning back before he took his little vacation. You only think you hate coffee – you actually hate urine," Lucifer smirked at the disgusted look on his brother's face.

"He liked me better than you! He's the one who spread the rumor you'd had relations with a Hellhound!" Michael fought back.

There was very little chance Cain was going to get any more information about the Winchesters at this point.

However… There was something to be said for the entertainment value of watching these two.

"Ow!" Michael screeched when Lucifer punched his arm. Again. They were rather predictable when it came to bodily injury. Rubbing the injured bicep, the elder Archangel picked up a rock and through it at Lucifer's head, missing by more than a foot.

_**The natural progression is the coming of your age**_

"That's all you've got? How did you manage to run Heaven?" Lucifer chuckled and picked the offending rock up and tossing it between his hands as he thought. "I guess a better question is how my side ever lost to somebody who can't even hit like a girl."

The rock left Lucifer's hand at lightning speed and struck Michael in the left temple. The blood started to pour down the archangel's head before suddenly stopping. Well, they still healed quickly – that was disappointing but not unexpected.

"Cain, get me a few more rocks will you?" Lucifer instructed him as if it was a foregone conclusion he would obey. In the past, he would have – but now…

How many times had he been sent on an unholy mission only to discover he thought Lucifer was wrong? That Heaven was wrong?

How often did he feel humanity was getting screwed over for no other reason than the vanity of Heaven and Hell? Hell was full of demons, but the Host were a bunch of power starved egomaniacs.

Honestly, it had taken until he watched the Winchesters tell both Heaven and Hell to screw themselves that Cain could admit to himself his desire to have done the same. To have refused to become a toy and pawn they used at their whim. While most of the orders may have come from Lucifer, they were still part of this great cosmic plan to rule the world.

When put in that light, they sounded like badly written comic book villains.

_**But they covered it with shame and turned it into rage**_

Twice Cain had thought about either ending himself or trying to find a way out from under Lucifer's service. It wasn't as if he was happy to follow the fallen angel.

Each time, the bloody Morning Star had found out somehow and pulled him back into the fold. Once by offering the demon who had tempted his brother – and hadn't that been a delicious prize? The other time had been by promising to call the hounds off a young woman who was one of his direct descendants.

_**And as you pray in your darkness always to set you free you are bound to your silent legacy**_

The third time, Cain had refused to listen to the demons that had come with promises of power, wealth, and anything else they could think of. He watched his beloved Colette die in his arms and nothing could have stopped him from walking away from his position as a Knight. He'd retired. Quit.

And after a century of nothing to do but farm and watch the world, Cain had grown weary. That's why the deal with Dean Winchester in exchange for the First Blade had been so easy. He had his out if he wanted it.

_**You're digging at the answers until your fingers bleed**_

It hadn't mattered at the time how passing the curse to Dean Winchester would affect the hunter – Cain wasn't a good man. If Dean lost his soul, that wasn't Cain's problem. But watching him…

Watching the hunter deny the call in his blood was astonishing. It actually stopped Cain and made him start thinking. What if what he'd believed all this time was simply incorrect? All Cain had to go on was his own assumptions and Lucifer's promises on what the Mark meant.

What if…

What if he could pull himself out of the hell he'd been living in and do something different?

What if Cain could be like Dean Winchester and fight?

_**To satisfy the hunger to satiate the need**_

But first, he needed information.

"Tell me more about the power – how is Winchester not killing and giving in to the rage?" Cain asked as he handed the fallen angel a few rocks.

No sooner had Lucifer grabbed the rocks then they went flying at his brother. Michael's shriek was annoying loud, but it was a small price to pay to stay on the Morning Star's good side at this moment. Cain had watched and learned a lot about how to manipulate Lucifer.

"Cain!" Michael yelled at the outrage of being stoned. Granted, they were tiny rocks – more large pebbles, but he acted so outraged.

"Here," Cain tossed a couple more to Lucifer. Keeping him happy was the easiest way to get answers.

"The power is just that – power. The curse isn't so much a curse – more like untamed power. I taught you how to tame it. Winchester… He tamed it another way," Lucifer spat on the floor in disgust.

"He didn't tame anything – he corrupted it!" Michael said while wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"How so?" Cain asked. This was what he needed.

_**They feed you on the guilt to keep you humble - keep you low**_

"You were Marked to cause you shame," Michael started. Cain hefted the rock in his hand and thought about throwing it at the ass of an archangel. "Unfortunately, you didn't feel shame. You turned to Lucifer and let him mold that Mark into a force of evil."

"You're so fucking sanctimonious," Lucifer snarled. He didn't dispute anything though; that more than anything told Cain it was the truth.

"And you're an immoral hooligan," was Michael's only response.

"Hooligan? Seriously?" Lucifer laughed. "I've pulled the feathers from angels wings and fed the souls of damned to my hell hounds. I'm not a teenage miscreant!"

"The mark?" Cain tried to get the conversation back on track. Again. It was easier to get cats to follow directions than to keep these two on topic.

"What about it?" Lucifer asked and instantly Cain saw his error. The fallen angel knew Cain was up to something now and no more information would be forthcoming.

"Look, it's your fault Winchester has the damned mark now," Lucifer said. "What he does with it isn't really your concern."

"He isn't the one it was meant for," Michael added. "You've probable messed up more plans now."

_**Some man and myth they made up a thousand years ago**_

"I may have messed up, but I'm out here. Now, I can help you with some of life's little comforts, like a second laptop, but I want to know how Winchester can fight it!" Cain's first plan may have failed, but he hadn't lived all this time without learning how to make backup plans.

"Upgraded internet," Lucifer responded. Of course the devil would try to strike a deal.

"I want a pillow," Michael added.

It was like the world stopped as Lucifer slowly turned towards his brother with a look of utter contempt.

"A pillow? You're only bargaining chip and you're asking for a damn pillow!"

"Two. Because you'll steal the first one from me," Michael smirked. Cain didn't remember him and his brother arguing like this. Surely if they had his saintly mother would have been the first murderer.

"Done," Cain said. "Now, tell me."

_**And as you pray in your darkness always to set you free you are bound to your silent legacy**_

"The Winchesters are… problematic," the eldest archangel said carefully.

"They aren't governed by prophecy; they pretty much can be counted on to spoil any plan. They're saboteurs of the first water," Lucifer said. It was hard to tell if he was complaining or impressed.

"Is that their destiny?" Cain asked.

"No?" Michael looked at his brother and they both shrugged as if in rare agreement.

"They were in the center of the apocalypse plans – plans made at the beginning of time. But as you know, they didn't… They call themselves Team Free Will," Lucifer rolled his eyes.

"Winchesters do what they think is right and don't really follow anything that's been laid out. No idea what to tell you – you say left, they go right. You say up, they go down," Michael waved his hand in a vague circle possibly to indicate he could go on.

"Right. You say jump, they murder you, spit on your corpse, and then salt and burn you," Lucifer added with a smirk.

_**Mother's tell your children be quick you must be strong**_

"And the rage isn't part of the curse?" Cain was still a little fuzzy on that one.

Lucifer thought for a long moment before opening his mouth. "The rage isn't rage – it's just power; like I said before. It courses through your blood and body and it hurts. The normal human reaction to pain is fight or flight. You can't run away from your own blood, so you fight."

"But I killed my brother – why…," Cain's mind was turning this new information over.

"Why you wanted to kill your brother? Actually you'd killed him before the Mark. The one thing had nothing to do with the other," Michael said with a sigh.

_**Life is full of wonder love is never wrong- Remember how they taught you**_

How often did he blame his actions on something that didn't even exist at the time? He could go years without remembering the Mark was punishment for the murder, not the reason.

So everything Cain thought he knew about the Mark was wrong.

It wasn't a curse to kill your brother, it was just power. There were things that could temper power or shape it into a benevolent force – like love.

Love. And how quickly had Abaddon gone after his dear sweet Colette after he fell in love with her? After he proposed to her – was it even a month before he buried her?

"Did you tell Abaddon to remove Colette? To kill her?" Cain asked as he put the pieces of an old puzzle together in a way that finally started to make sense.

"You were less useful with her around. I needed your head in the game. There was an apocalypse to plan for!" Lucifer snarled.

_**How much of it was fear?**_

_**Refuse to hand it down**_

_**The legacy stops here.**_

Cain was done with this. He walked away from the brothers who were screaming their reminders about the pillows and laptop. He'd wasted the entire existence of mankind hating and fighting on the wrong side.

He should have been fighting for humanity; Heaven and Hell were so fucking corrupt and worthless Cain doubted he'd even pee on them if they were on fire at this point.

Too bad all they'd taught him in the past few eons was how to fight – fight dirty.

Kind of like a Winchester when you thought about it.

**AN:**

**Elysium Fields** – Greek myth where heroes, those related to gods, and righteous are said to live happily and allowed those within to peruse there mortal past times they enjoyed.

**Jesus in Galilee – Matthew 4:23-24** _Jesus was going throughout all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every kind of disease and every kind of sickness among the people. The news about Him spread throughout all Syria and they brought Him all who were ill, those suffering with various diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, paralytics, and He healed them…_

**First water – **it's from the gemstone trade: the more a diamond is clear like water, the better quality. So a diamond of the first water is an excellent diamond.

**Eon – **longest portion of geologic time spanning at least two eras like the various eras of dinosaurs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Suffering is part of the divine idea – Henry Ward Beecher_

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam's thoughts swirled around and around. The First Blade, Crowley, and the Mark of Cain. What was happening to his brother?

Furthermore, what was happening with Cas? The angel didn't even have time to give Sam a quick update on Dean now. Not that Sam deserved to keep tags on his brother – Sam was a grade A prick.

But still…

He pulled up the contact list on his phone and pushed on Dean's name. The ringing went on until Sam was dumped in voicemail.

"This is Dean's other phone – if I'm not answering this one, just leave a message," came the pre-recorded voice.

Beep.

"Dean, its Sam. I… Okay, so I don't really know what to say aside from I was wrong. I would save you – I know I would, you were right. I was just being a douche-canoe. So, call me?" Sam ended the call and rolled his eyes at how lame he was.

The only thing that would have been dorkier is if he'd said call me maybe.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean took a deep breath and on the exhale he pulled the trigger. The target set up at the edge of the field showed another clean shot in the center of the concentric circles; it wasn't like he had a hell of a lot to do while Crowley worked out the final details on killing Abaddon.

Crowley was a complete waste of space – taking the blade like that.

"Far be it for me to point out to a man with a gun, but your aim is off slightly from true center," Cain said from behind the hunter.

"Damn it Cain, don't sneak up on me like that!" Dean realized he seemed to say that to an awful lot of supernatural beings. It might be possible he needed to be a little more aware of his surroundings.

"I have news from the cage – if you're interested?"

"Wait – the cage? As in the one with Lucifer in Hell? How?" Dean asked.

"Knight of Hell; I go where I please," Cain looked vaguely smug.

"Was Adam there?" Dean asked without thinking. Sam wasn't his only brother, but the poor kid wasn't raised with them. It felt weird calling him brother or family when those words had so much wrapped around it right now.

"Who?" Cain frowned. "There were only two in the cage. Lucifer and Michael. It was an interesting afternoon."

"I've been wondering – I know why I want Abaddon gone, but why do you?" Cain asked.

"She's evil; really that's enough for me," Dean shrugged. What a stupid question.

"So you're on Heaven's side?"

"Not really. They're a bunch of dicks," the hunter frowned. This was almost as bad as 'feelings'.

"So why side with Crowley? He's almost as evil as Abaddon – King of Hell and all," Cain pointed out.

Dean took a second to pause and gather his thoughts. Yes, Crowley was evil, but he was a necessary evil. Like a white lie – you did it but you weren't bothered by it because it didn't really do much damage in the end.

Though Crowley actually could do damage…

"Because both Heaven and Crowley want the bitch dead. Enemy of my enemy is my frienemy," Dean grinned. "Crowley is least of two evils in this case."

"Heaven wants Abaddon to win," Cain frowned in confusion at Dean.

"No they don't. Why would they want her in charge? She'd go after the Host – Crowley just kind of runs his little kingdom down under and leaves the angels alone."

"No," the Knight of Hell shook his head. "If Abaddon wins, the war will start back up. They don't like the status quo Crowley's keeping – the war would heat back up giving the Host something to fight. They're as much a bunch of war seeking idiots as Hell."

"That's complete bullshit," Dean seethed. It couldn't be right. Unfortunately, the words rang a little too true. "Whoever said Man was God's most beloved was a liar – we're his favorite fucking punching bag!"

Cain didn't answer, but gave a small shrug as if to say he didn't disagree. Dean always knew he was being played by Crowley; the angels played them as well, but at least Dean thought the angels were supposed to be protectors or some shit.

"There's just no upside in any of this is there? Not for humans anyway," Dean concluded.

"According to history? No. However, you and your brother seem to relish doing the unexpected," Cain said. Brother? Not so much. But it wasn't worth it to correct the Knight of Hell.

"Yeah," Dean said. "We like to fuck their plans up. What about you though?"

"Me?" Cain asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes you. You were human once. How could you let them use you to destroy so much of humanity in the name of Lucifer?" Dean asked. It had been bugging him that Cain didn't fight the good fight.

"Not all of us were as… noble as the Winchesters," the first son of Adam and Eve said.

Dean tapped his foot as he looked around the empty clearing. Monsters wanted humans dead, ghosts wanted to haunt them, demons tried to possess them, and angels wanted to use them as pawns.

Dean held the gun up towards the sky and pushed the release to eject the empty magazine before reloading.

He checked the safety was on before handing it to Cain.

"Show me what you got Mr. Knight," Dean smirked as he thought carefully about what Cain had said. The man, or knight, or whatever hadn't said anything that Dean himself hadn't worried about in the back of his mind. Heaven was full of angels, and as had been established multiple times, angels were a huge bag of dicks.

Hell rooting for Abaddon wasn't a shocker either – the demons respected power. If Crowley appeared weak, they would follow Abaddon. If the bitch was gone, they'd happily follow Crowley again.

Demons were easy that way – they had no concept of loyalty and could be counted on to support the strongest.

Cain unloaded two shots and looked at the gun as if something was wrong. Yeah buddy; it was the gun that didn't aim straight.

This was the part when Dean usually relied on Sam. The floppy haired giant was amazingly good at putting pieces together into a plan. Sometimes. Usually. He would make connections with this new information about Heaven and have a plan in a freakishly short amount of time.

Too bad he was… out of the picture. Not that Dean missed Samantha or anything.

Sam was the Betrayer and had shrugged Dean off like an old musty coat.

"This gun is broken," Cain said with a frown.

"The gun is fine – you're just in the habit of using your powers," Dean said as he wiggled his fingers to indicate magic.

"Speaking of powers – you never asked me why I went to visit the cage," Cain pointed out.

"Figured you'd either tell me or not," Dean shrugged a little. At Cain's frown, Dean gave a sigh and added, "Fine, why did you do to see the two biggest angelic dicks to ever exist?"

"I… Are you suggesting I saw their penises?" Cain looked horrified.

"What? No!" Dean mentally replayed what he said. "Why did you go see the archangels who also happen to act like giant bags of dicks?"

"I found out why you're able to control the rage," Cain said and took aim again.

"And?"

"Because of your extraordinary adherence to free will. Most humans are easily led – the Winchester brothers are only led by some twisted sense of 'right'," the first brother replied. "To be honest, either of them were quite sure what that meant, just that it didn't serve their needs."

"Hmm," True, they had never really done what people or any supernatural being thought they would. It was sort of their thing.

"Incoming," Cain muttered as he sat the gun down.

"Dean," Cas said as he appeared behind Dean. Son of a bitch – could that angel not land anywhere but almost up in Dean's ass?

"Cas," Dean said without turning around.

"I need to talk to you."

"That so? Then talk," Dean shot a considering look at Cain. "Actually, I got a question – Cas, does the Host want Abaddon to win?"

"I do not see how –" Cas stopped. "They would not be upset if Abaddon won. I did manage to convince the Host to not actively get involved. It was difficult."

"Difficult," the hunter seethed. People were spoon fed stories about how good the angels were and yet… Dean took a deep breath and pushed down the ever present rage.

**S-S-S-S-S**

It was only the practice of millennia that stopped Cain from taking a step back. The Righteous man was angry – the power bleeding from him was staggering. Cain remembered the beginning when he would consumed with it. Sometimes months would pass before he could gain any semblance of control.

The mark was burning under Dean's skin. The angel didn't notice it, but that sigil had sat on Cain for too long to go unnoticed – even on another Knight.

Even though Dean didn't act like it, he would become a Knight of Hell. There was nothing to stop the Mark from taking over in the end.

"Damn it Cas," Dean muttered as he took a deep breath. The Mark screamed its displeasure with being kept in check.

"Dean, it is very important that you not get sidetracked," the angel continued.

Cain snorted. That winged idiot had zero sense of self preservation.

"You understand Dean could end you with barely more than a thought right now don't you?" Cain asked as he picked the gun again and checked the sight. At this point after the Mark had been seared into his flesh he'd been a mess. No sleep, shaking with rage, and visions of blood playing nonstop on a loop in his mind.

"Dean would never-"

"Dean is Marked. The only thing holding him back from whatever torture is surely running through his mind is his free will. If that were to slip for even a moment…," Cain shrugged.

If Cain had been a fraction of the man Dean was he wouldn't have needed Lucifer to control himself. He wouldn't have needed that purpose the Morning Star had given him. Kill, avenge, torture. That's all there had been.

Dean's free will was used for a different purpose, but just as strong. Protect the innocent.

How different they were.

**S-S-S-S-S**

It was strange; never before had Dean been the one planning at this level. He'd tried to learn chess from Bobby, but his strategy of a full frontal attack always meant a quick loss. Loosing wasn't an option right now. Too many humans were at risk.

All of them.

Looking around the farm house it was clear he needed to talk Cain again. Once Cas had dropped the bomb of Heaven's real plan, Dean had left to cool off.

Stupid fucking angels. Stupid fucking demons. There was a point when a man had to forge his own path – which led to him sitting with paper in front of him, a pen drawing doodles as he thought. Swirls that he filled in like a stained glass.

First, what did he want? That was an easy one. He wanted peace between Heaven and Hell so they would stop using the Earth as a battlefield. The pen drew a peace sign; it was the dated sigil that had lost all meaning.

Dad had taught them how to make sigils. Not overly powerful ones, but they had all been simple hunters back then. There had been no power to back them up – some sigils were beautiful and complex, but the ones Dean had learned to make were just stacking things that stood for something.

An oval stood for the Heaven and the angels that wore them. Yeah, not so much. The triangle with a line through it stood for the wedge Lucifer had caused. The line was a small arrow to stand for the fall from grace.

Actually, Dean wanted humans safe. He didn't care how it happened. Let Heaven and Hell burn. Ha. Hell burning! He drew little flames licking up the side of a cage with two figures in it. He tossed some wings on the figures.

How did you keep a planet safe from supernatural forces? Hunting had always worked before the apocalypse; that had started to confuse things. Suddenly it was personal sacrifice and souls and all kinds of torture. Loosing things. Loosing Bobby – his father in every way that counted; a mentor that taught him to be a man and stand up for what's right.

Dean moved his pen and kept doodling.

The name Winchester had been striking fear in Heaven and Hell for a while now – it might be time to think as his own man instead of part of a team of two.

D. E. A. N.

Soon it would be the only thing he would be known by – one syllable to strike terror in anything.

Dean.

His pen flew over the paper. A sigil – he needed to figure one out that was fast and easy to sign his work. Abaddon had been sending him messages for years – it was time to send one back.

Nothing left to figure out now except what he wanted the combined forces of Heaven and Hell to pay to him now. Pay everyone back - for the pain they had inflicted on humanity for so long. He'd paid a price and he was going make sure they would feel the pain of Dean's loss a hundred fold. A thousand.

Dean had a plan, and all he needed was some more information from Cain. He tore the last sigil from the page of doodles and folded it before tucking it in his wallet.

He'd need to practice a few times before trying it in the heat of battle. And he had every intention of using it quite a bit.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Cain frowned. No way was he going to drink what Dean put on the table between them.

"It's good, I promise," Dean gave an encouraging smile.

"I don't know you well enough to know if your promise is worth much right now," the Knight replied. The Dean of old was honorable, but this was a newly made weapon wearing Dean's face…

"It's called a Pickleback. Come on – after you try it you'll know if I'm trustworthy, right?" Dean picked up his own shot of Jameson and tilted his head back pouring the liquid down. Before he was even done swallowing, the shot of pickle juice followed.

He was crazy. A crazy smiling madman.

"Look, I get that a mixed drink is for girls like Sam, but it's okay with this one because it's a chaser," Dean said. The mere mention of his brother showed that he'd tossed more than a few back before Cain arrived.

"Wait – do you drink fruit shit?" Dean looked horrified. It was as if the man's whole opinion of Cain was based on what he drank.

"You're ridiculous," Cain huffed before following Dean's example.

Oh.

"Good, right?"

"Stop gloating; it's not a good look on you."

"Everything is a good look on me," Dean smirked.

Cain raised an eyebrow. This was the most relaxed he'd seen Dean since receiving the Mark. He seemed lighter somehow. Interesting – Surprising. That's exactly what Michael and Lucifer told him though; the only thing you could expect from a Winchester was for them to never do what was expected.

"So, I'm trying to figure out these powers," the man didn't even bother testing the waters before jumping in the deep end.

"I assumed," Cain nodded. "It's complicated."

"This isn't Facebook man. Right, so… Tell me what the Mark does? What kind of crap can I do – how much power do I have at my fingertips?" Dean wiggled his fingers. "I want to know before I go in to kick some red headed bitch ass."

"It's… All three of us can do things like sense the supernatural. We can move things, banish, and force our will on lesser beings. Really that includes everything save archangels." Cain stopped for a moment. There was a pull in the back of his mind. Something just decided to drop in on this little get together and it most likely wasn't for the excellent drinks.

"We all have our own specialties. I can change the passage of time in small increments. No more than a few seconds at a time – though a few seconds can change everything," he explained. An angel. It was an angel standing to the side. Dean hadn't felt him yet, which meant it was of some power.

"That's amazing – time bending. What about the bitch?" Dean asked while looking at his fingers.

"Abaddon can call specialized demons that don't need vessels. They can't be exorcised and they don't die easily. When I say that I mean even angels have trouble with them," Cain explained. Castiel. Little Angel of Thursday was proving as surprising as the Winchesters.

"Angels have trouble killing them. When the angel lays hands on them, instead of standing still as the light cleanses them, they struggle and can attack the angel while he is vulnerable," he paused as Dean nodded.

Time to have their uninvited guest join them.

"Right Castiel?" Cain asked over his shoulder.

"Cas?" Dean asked. The hunter clearly hadn't sensed the angel was nearby.

"He's here. Hidden well, but listening. Manifest angel," Cain demanded.

In the blink of an eye the angel stood before them looking rather rattled at having been caught. Castiel closed his eyes and tilted his head back until he faced the sky. Like a prayer to the Heavens for mercy. Judging by the look Dean was shooting at him, Castiel had reason to look contrite and repentant.

"Spying? Seriously Cas?"

Cain sat back and hid a smile. Time to see where this pawn would be played on the board.

**S-S-S-S-S**

AN:

**Pickleback**: a very real drink that I had a half dozen soccer-moms slamming on New Year's after my brother in law got he to try it. We drank a fifth of pickle juice taking half shots after full whiskey shots. Try it – seriously. You will thank me. Well, later you will. When you can type again.

**Pawn:** The smallest and least valuable chess piece. Until it's not. It's either sacrificed to advance your game, or it's part of your strategy to gaining a second Queen.

On a personal note - I'm not done writing, but some encouragement wouldn't come amiss right about now. It's been a really hard year.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 MoD**

_The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies. _

_**Ash Sweeney**_

**S-S-S-S-S**

"Dean," was all the angel could think to say. He'd been caught well and truly.

"What the fuck man?" his hunter looked at him with betrayal. Cas had only been trying to keep Dean safe from this Knight of Hell.

"I apologize." What else was there to say? Ever since he had been assigned the task to pull Righteous man from Hell it seemed everything had changed. He followed Dean. It had cost him his faith, his brothers, and at one time even his sanity.

All his brothers thought he'd lost his mind when he would leave at the drop of a hat whenever Dean called. They called him crazy when he forsaken his grace to remain at his human charge's side.

"You followed me?" the hunter asked.

"Yes," Cas replied. Of course he followed Dean – he would follow wherever Dean led him. Furthermore, he would follow wherever Dean _went._

Once the angel had accepted that he could not be swayed from Dean's side, he had been forced to ask himself why. Act of disobedience were foreign to the angel. It was not love nor was it lust. They were not brothers, and Cas was most certainly not Dean's mentor. Not his keeper either.

He was simply Dean's.

"And?" Dean started to pace. Sam had always said pacing was a bad sign from Dean. "Just when I think I can trust you I find out you're keeping shit from me about Heaven's plans and now you're spying for them?"

Spying for Heaven – never. He was loyal to Dean in all ways. He'd been changed in the most fundamental way; no angel had ever changed allegiances like this. Never to follow a human.

"I would never do that to you Dean. You must know that," the angel frowned.

"Bullshit."

"You must believe me," Cas started before he was cut off with a snort of disbelief. And that was the biggest problem between Dean and himself.

While he was Dean's, Dean was not his.

The angel had watched as Sam had thrown away what Castiel would have cherished. He had felt crushed to know his charge would not come to him for help; instead the preordained Vessel of Michael now bore the Mark. Instead of trusting and relying on Cas, the Righteous Man's soul was now twisted in agony as it struggled with that damned Mark.

"You – I _must_ believe you?"

"You should believe me?" he asked, hopeful. Before the Mark, the hunter rarely listened when first angered. Ranting yes; listening no.

"Holding back the truth is the same as lying. I thought we'd gone beyond that crap – I know you were pissed when I needed space after I left, but damn it…" A look crossed his hunters face. Sometimes he would see Dean just stare into the distance with a similar expression – the man hadn't asked for any of this.

"I was not pissed. I was worried," Cas felt it was important to clarify that one point.

"One question Castiel," Dean only used his full name when it was of vital importance. Cas' full name was a line in the sand.

"Yes?"

"How long did you know?" From the moment the yellow eyed demon had dropped blood into Sam's infant mouth, Dean's life had been set on this course no man had ever suffered.

"Know?"

"Don't play stupid – how long did you know that Heaven wanted Abaddon to win this spat in Hell?"

Cas closed his eyed and stepped outside of time for a moment. He saw the Knight of Hell raise an eyebrow, but Dean remained frozen.

He just needed a moment to think. Had he know? Of course – it was the only logical step Heaven would have taken. The war for the souls on Earth was the only goal either side was after. To win.

Cas knew that somewhere right now was a new prophet sitting and writing – being driven like Chuck Shirley had been. Driven to write and write the journey of an epic hero's journey to save people.

The Winchester gospels.

When the gospels of the Winchesters were completed, the figure of Dean Winchester and his labors would become the most famous story ever told save that of the son of God. More famous than Orpheus descent in the underworld for his love. Dean had not only gone to Hell, he'd stayed in Purgatory and made it out of both without the help of a Greek god.

The journey had almost driven him as mad as Hercules was after his Twelve Labors – almost killing Sam. But what set Dean apart was the fact that he overcame the call of madness.

Dean had been punished by Heaven like Poseidon punished Odysseus with a ten year journey to return home. The tests of bravery, skill, honor – Dean had them all.

The man was the embodiment of everything a man should be. He stood by an ungrateful father, fought for the soul of a brother who did not want his help, and saved the innocent and never asked for so much a thank you. He was humble and did not even see himself as such; in fact, he saw himself as unworthy. He was willing to stand between the damned and still try to save them. Who did that?

Dean Winchester.

That was why his soul shone; it was why Castiel followed him. It was why Dean could change the course of history. What was the course of a river when a dam was placed in front of it? The dam could destroy the past or save the starving. It could change the world.

The heart of a warrior, the soul of a saint. Was it any wonder Castiel, Angel of Thursday, had followed Dean Winchester?

The moment the man had entered his life, Castiel had started his own journey on the path to true free will – he ended up being the Angel of Winchester. When the gospels were complete Castiel's devotion to Dean Winchester would be compared to that of Abraham. The angel had not offered his only son - he'd offered up his entire existence as an angel of the Lord.

That youngest of brothers, the Angel of Thursday, had been wiped out. In its place stood Castiel, Angel of Dean. No, Dean would hate that name. It would be too 'cheesy'. Regardless, the point stood.

Castiel turned to the first son and drew a deep breath.

"I am his man," Cas said with conviction.

"I believe you believe that. You certainly want to be his something," Cain replied without condescension.

"It is not like that! It is not… We are not-"

"I truly don't care about your personal desires or lack thereof Castiel; please don't stumble through an explanation on my behalf," Cain gave a pained look before continuing. "You claim to be his, but you withhold information, many times it seems. You have secrets and distrust; trying to protect the other side friction. If you were truly his right hand man, there wouldn't be anything but submission to his will. But there isn't."

"I am not his right hand. He has his own," Cas said automatically. "But I understand your reference."

Cain sat staring at the angel without judgment. Cain. Without Judgment.

The Marked One did not judge the trials and struggles of an Angel of the Lord… Oh.

"Oh."

Cain nodded.

"I cannot have them both can I?" Castiel asked. "I cannot have free will and follow Dean and be his and be an Angel. I cannot be of the Host and claim to be his. It does not work like that does that?"

"It certainly creates a conflict of interest," Cain agreed.

Spilling back into the time stream Cas took a deep breath before opening his eyes and answering. The truth would set them free.

"I always knew what course of action they would ultimately follow. I have no direct knowledge of any plans, but it was never in question that Crowley's vision was not shared by the Host."

"And that didn't seem like something you should have shared with me? Not something that might have help… oh, I don't know – a million times in the past?"

"It did not occur to me that you would want to know," Cas hedged. Dean had not asked directly anyway. This was the line, and he was walking so close he was about to lose his balance and fall across.

"You're an asshole. How many plans have we fought for to keep Crowley in charge? How often have you sided with him behind our backs? Damn it Cas – you've been playing us like a fool for years now. Fucking years," Dean raged as he clinched his fists.

"Yes."

"What?" Dean looked confused.

"I am an asshole. Not a literal one of course, though my vessel still possesses one of course, but I behave-"

"Shut up." When Cas tried to respond, nothing came out.

The angel frowned. For their entire association, Castiel had been the one with the power. The ability to leave when he wished; the one who could walk into a room and clear it with nary a thought. Now… Now Dean was able to control Cas' vessel to an alarming degree without seeming to realizing that he had actually issued a command.

They had started attracting some undesired attention from those around them.

"Cain?" Dean asked with a look at the Knight of Hell. A small nod was all the reaction and the world shifted. Cas did not recognize the clearing – it was on the edge of an overgrown dark copse of trees and a fallow field.

With a slight nod of his head, Cain left the two of them there alone.

After looking all around, Dean started walking along the edge of the field and trees. Cas could tell by the brisk pace the hunter was setting he was not ready to talk yet.

"Ya' know what Cas?"

"What?" Cas found his voice has returned.

"It's never been about anything but family for me. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Dad, Sa- whatever," Dean sighed. "We were taught never to let people in – never trust."

Castiel stayed silent. This conversation was not like any he had ever experienced with the man next to him.

"I would have done anything for you Cas – Hell, I did things for you I never thought I would," Dean said without looking at the angel. Coming from the hunter who never spoke about his feelings, this was huge.

"For a few years I was like… We were – um," Dean kept walking from closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Fuck. Okay, so you got me out of Hell – we bonded or whatever. We had each other's backs. You never actually said you would… I don't know. Pick me? You never said you would turn your back on the angels and their cosmic shit, but you did. You gave up your powers; you fought with me. You fought _for_ me."

Cas nodded. He had. He would do it again without a second thought.

"It's completely screwed up. I thought you were the one who would be next to me and stand by my side no matter what. God, that sounds stupid," Dean snorted.

"No, I will stand by your side Dean. I will follow you."

"But that's the point – you say you will, but when the rubber hits the road, you aren't exactly putting all your cards on the table."

"I – Rubber hitting the road in an allusion to a car going to a road on all four wheels, and cards on the table is in reference to the end of a hand of poker in which the winner puts his cards on table to claim the money in the center, but I am not sure how they are related…"

Human expressions were getting easier, but still weren't clear especially when they got mixed up like this.

"Cas," Dean stopped walking and turned to the angel. "I can never be sure which way you're going to go. Which side are you really fighting for – mine? Yours? Theirs? I don't know. And this keeping information from me? Honestly, I had dismissed it – You had promised to never lie."

"There was never a lie," Cas promised. "I truthfully answered every question you asked Dean."

"Right. But that's not the point – and maybe it's the whole not human thing," Dean started walking again. "You don't get how it's almost like a lie. Damnit – I didn't get it, and it cost me a brother."

"Is it going to cost me you?" Cas whispered.

During his time as a human, Cas had come to understand a few things about humans. As an angel, time had no meaning, but as a human… A minute could last a second or stretch in to an hour. This was one of the latter as Dean took his time to think carefully about the answer.

"I don't know. Probably not – but I just need some time away from you. I'm figuring stuff out and I need…," he trailed off.

"I can help you," Cas offered. "I will help you. Anything you need. Anything at all. I am at your disposal. There is no question for me anymore. I forsake Heaven without Falling, because there is no Falling to protect that which is God's most favored. You. Mankind, humans."

He cringed inside; that sounded a little too much like a love sick puppy. This was not love; it was devotion.

"I'll think about it. For now, I think I need a little more reassurance than your word," Dean stopped as they finally reached a road that seemed to lead nowhere in particular.

"Crowley!" Dean shouted into the air. Castiel hated the sound of that demon's name on his Winchester's lips.

**S-S-S-S-S**

"At your service squirrel – I wasn't busy with a war or anything," Crowley scowled at Cas as the angel scowled right back. He really hated that stupid feathered git. It wasn't because Dean was obviously so close to him either. It was because… he was a git.

"I need to be hidden from Cas again," his weapon said with a sigh.

"Do you promise not to give him a midnight booty call this time? I find it tiring to keep redoing my work when you undo it just to see your boyfriend," the demon asked, carefully keeping his internal cheering to himself. That's right you sanctimonious angel – Dean preferred the company of the King of Hell to a lowly angel who kept falling.

"Shut up. What's the price?" Dean asked already thoroughly irritated.

"Well, since you asked so sweetly." Crowley kept a vague smirk on his face while he thought. There were several things he wanted from his weapon ranging from answers to seeing the God sent body naked, pardon the French.

"You do not need to involve Crowley in this Dean," the feathered freak begged. It would be moving if Crowley didn't have a vested interest in getting Dean away from Sparkles.

"Cas, space. I just need space," Dean said. That didn't sound good. That wasn't exactly a rejection or rebuff of whatever they'd been talking about that had Castiel's feather's all ruffled.

"What would you have me do while you have space?" Cas asked, eyes downcast. Fucking bloody Hell.

"Uh, I dunno'. What do you wanna' do?" the Hunter asked. Were they doing some sort of BDSM thing?

"I will tend bees with Cain if that is acceptable to him?"

"Bees? Sure," Cain said looking mildly amused.

"Fine, with that figured out, Dean – my price is you spread out on my bed," Crowley laughed at the outraged gasp from Dean's boyfriend. It was so easy to rile the uptight little puritanical idiot.

"Seventh grade make out rules, three minutes," and with that Dean leaned in to whisper in Crowley's ear. "And if you don't accept those term's, I'll let Cas over there take me back to my motel and do the things I know you want. Twice."

Dean stood back up. It was always dangerous to show your hand, and it was also clear the King of Hell had done exactly that. When had that happened? How long had Dean known? He'd been saving it – that much was clear. And now, he had a bit of an upper hand.

The perfect Weapon.

"Done." Crowley snapped his fingers.

**S-S-S-S-S**

AN:

Okay – This chapter is heavy in Biblical and Hellenic figures of classic Greek Mythology. I'm just going to start at the beginning in order of mention with a brief touch on what they did. As with all Mythology, they did a whole bunch of stuff, and it's all crazy interlaced.

**Orpheus** – Greek legendary musician, poet, and prophet. Known for charming all living things, and his quest to retrieve his wife from the underworld. He was also an Argonaut under Jason.

**Jason **- Leader of the Argonauts quest for the Golden fleece.

**Hercules **– Come on, I'm not going into the history of this guy.

**Abraham **– commanded by God to kill his only son. As he was ready to kill him God spoke and commanded him to stop. It had been a test of his devotion to God – Genesis 22:1-19

**Dams – **I feel stupid including this but… China recently built the Three Gorges Dam and displaced over 1.3 million people (disputed); it covered an ancient area that had been lived in for 4000 years with temples. The Hoover Dam was built to provide water and energy. (Maybe the save reason for Three Gorges Dam?) Both had a major Impact in the course of history in their areas and countries.

Also, just a person note – do you have any idea how difficult it is to write for Cas without contractions? His speech patterns traditionally don't include things like slang, comparisons, similes, or contractions. Unfortunately, grammar check thinks all those things are just fine, so… Next time you read, try to remember after a few paragraphs to edit out contractions! *Smacks Head*


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 MoD**

_Sometimes you gotta' know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run – _**Kenny Rogers**_, The Gambler (_1978_)_

**S-S-S-S-S**

"Three minutes? Really Dean that seems a bit of a low ball to me," Crowley sneered. He might want to get his hands on the hunter, but he wasn't that desperate. Maybe a little hungry, but not desperate.

"Yep," Dean said popping his p with the complete convention of someone who held all the cards.

Fuck.

"Come on, let's get it over with. I'm not really in the mood to draw this out," Dean looked about the loft. Crowley was rather proud of this place. It was his place to escape when running Hell became… Hell.

"It occurs to me that I can make this a little less difficult for you Dean," Crowley said.

"I doubt it. Come on, get over here."

Crowley frowned.

"I think you forget who you're dealing with Not Moose. I'm the King of Hell, not your lackey." He snapped his fingers and a strawberry blond demon appeared. She was a small little thing with a tight body. Sweet bow mouth with pink lips and light green eyes – straight out a small town from Middle America.

Her hair fell in soft waves on her shoulders as she walked over to stand before them with a smile. That smile was the icing on the cake. Dimpled. There were actual dimples in her cheeks.

A church girl on Sunday just to make up for what you know she did on Saturday nights. That wicked little sway in her hips told you she knew what her knees were on both days.

The perfect girl for the eldest Winchester.

"Love, meet Dean. I'm sure you've heard of him. Tonight you'll be joining us in a little transaction if Dean wants to be hidden from his boyfriend." Crowley's eyes didn't leave Deans. If Dean wasn't into Crowley alone, then he had no problem at all in adding a little something into the mix.

"Of course my King," she smiled. "I'm Morgan. What's your desire tonight?"

"Dean? I'm assuming you can deal with more than three minutes at this point?"

"Uh, yeah," the new Knight cleared his throat.

"Of course."

The King of Hell smirked to himself. It was always just a matter of finding the point of weakness. While Archimedes needed a firm place to stand to move the world, Crowley just needed a weak spot to change the course of the world. Or at least a small course of the world.

"Strip Dear," he told her. Once Dean was completely taken with her, Crowley would join in. Nothing like a ménage a trois.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Dean's breath caught in his throat. Whatever he'd been going through with the whole Cas/Crowley bullshit, this is what he loved.

And Morgan wasted no time.

Smooth skin was revealed as she dropped her clothes to the floor. It wasn't a slow strip tease, but there was an artlessness to it. A woman who just wanted her clothing off as quickly as possible.

And hey, who was he to complain about that?

"Do you mind?" Morgan asked as she started to climb into his lap. Naked lady in his lap? Did he mind?

"Of course not," he said while running his hands over the curve of her hips. When was the last time he'd touched a woman like this? Damn, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd even met somebody as perfect as Morgan, much less been with them.

Her lips trailed down his neck, biting into the tendons and pulling as she tugged his shirt out of pants that had become entirely too tight. Dean drug his shirt over his head in an effort to help. It was only polite to never leave a lady waiting.

"Touch me," Morgan demanded as she grabbed his hands and put them on her breasts. Now, Dean had been with woman that had cup sizes of every kind; he usually didn't have much of a preference really. It was more the reaction the woman had… and wow.

As Dean caressed her, Morgan's head fell back. The low groan she let out – well that was what he got off on. A quick little flick on her nipple had her back arching and whole body shivering.

Yeah, that's what he had been looking for. Dean dropped one hand to his pants and flicked open the button and pulled the zip down to relieve the pressure a bit. That small movement seemed to get her attention.

"Crowley, take care of that?" she asked. Crowley? Oh yeah, they had an audience. As much as that really should put him off, it really didn't. Maybe it was growing up with so little privacy, or maybe it was just something else, but he was a compete exhibitionist. And as pissy as Dean had been with Crowley earlier didn't mean he minded if the guy watched.

"Of course love," Crowley's voice purred.

As soon as the words left Crowley's mouth, Dean was as naked as Morgan. It wouldn't take more than a small shift and he would be buried...

"Finally," she murmured before leaning in and pressing her lips against his.

A simple kiss.

It wasn't deep or sloppy. It wasn't a filthy kiss like lovers exchange in the middle a bed with the covers kicked to end and the headboard banging out a fast rhythm.

It was like his first kiss.

"Dean?" Morgan asked. He realized he'd stopped completely. This wasn't a woman. Well, it was. Or had been.

"Get off," he said as he shoved her roughly out of his lap. He looked around for his pants. Damn – he felt sick to his stomach.

He'd been… He was going to have sex with a woman who was possessed. Whoever this lady had been couldn't give her consent. They had a word for that in the real world.

No.

Never.

"What's the matter?" Morgan asked.

"I have a question sweetheart," Dean asked as he found his pants and pulled them on. "Was that sweet girl's name Morgan or was it your name before you sold your soul or damned yourself or however you became a demon?"

Her frown… well, it should have looked cute. Her face looked cute and confused. Whatever. Dean put his hand out felt the rage pour through the Mark and he pulled the demon out from the girl.

Whoever that demon had been – well, Dean didn't have his Blade. While he had come up with a few ideas to try out, he didn't even get a chance.

Crowley let out a growl of frustrated rage and the smoke of her true demon form exploded outward before imploding. Dean had never seen anything like it.

"Did you just banish her?" Dean asked as he took a throw blanket from an uncomfortable modern looking sofa and covered the unconscious form of the girl on the floor. Morgan maybe?

"Banished? No." Crowley frowned as he studied Dean.

"Then what? It looked kinda' cool," he said by way of a peace offering to the demon who couldn't be pleased at the moment.

"I pulled her apart and placed every molecule in a different torture in hell – fortunately she'll still feel every single torture of each one at the same time. It's been awhile since I've used it, but she disappointed me," the demon said while staring at Dean with a flat look.

"Did you have to act such an asshole?" Dean asked. Shit. It would have been kinder if Dean had ended her quickly.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Crowley sat in his armchair with a sigh. Things had gotten completely out of hand. She was supposed to put Dean in his place. Scratch an itch to keep him interested and, more importantly, in Crowley's control. It was clear the man wasn't interested in Crowley, though once Dean and Morgan got started, he had planned on joining in.

"Really? King of Hell here." He stood and walked over to the bar set against the far wall. Smegging Dean Winchester.

Crowley needed to get ahold of himself. This wasn't any different than any other deal. Not any different at all. Dean was a weapon, a tool. It would certainly be a pleasure to go a few sweaty rounds with the new Knight of Hell, but Crowley needed to pull himself together.

He needed to get control of this situation and relieve Dean of the notion that he was in any way in control of the King of Hell.

Even if the blighter might be. Just a little bit. At least in control of a certain part. A not so little part.

"Look, I agreed to…a stupid seven minutes in heaven with you –"

"Fancy a drink?" Crowley asked as he poured himself a double of Johnnie Walker.

"Wait – What?" Good. Finally threw him off a little bit.

"A drink? If we're going to get through this, I'm going to need a little something," Crowley raised his glass in a silent toast and drained the glass.

Yes. That was the lovely look of confusion and anger Crowley had been aiming for. Sometimes it was just too easy. It was also good to know his weapon wasn't as confident as he'd seemed.

"To _get through_ it? You've never had a problem_ getting through_ it before," Dean ground out while clinching his fists. Pretty boys were so easy to wind up. All vanity and pride – so easy to break when one put one's mind to it.

"Yes, well," the demon poured another and downed it without pausing to savor the lovely oaky burn. There was a weeping distiller at the waste, but the effect on Dean was well worth a very tears. "You're a damned fine looking man darling, but you're hardly the only fish in the sea."

"You're the one tryin' to get my pants man," Dean pointed a finger. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Crowley took his time to answer. He stared at the man in front of him and took a deep breath; he'd lost control of this situation, and it was time to take it back.

"Come here," Crowley said as he stood up and waited until the hunter reached him. It was even odds if the man was going to punch him.

"You wanted a deal. Hiding you from Castiel? I think we agreed to the terms already," Crowley said. He grabbed Dean's neck and kissed him with brutality. There was no seduction in it. Time for that had, unfortunately, passed.

"Whoa man," Dean barely got out before Crowley descended onto the man's neck. It was work of a few moments to put a rather violently purple mark making Dean invisible to the angel.

"Done." Crowley said.

"Great, so now like I said before anything above the waist-," Dean started but was cut off.

"Contrary to your opinion of me, I'm not big on sloppy seconds Dean," the King of Hell summoned his chair and sat own never breaking eye contact with Dean.

"W- Um, Excuse me?" he stuttered, cheeks turning red.

"As fun as it is to annoy Castiel," that name burned on his tongue. Crowley hated angels in general, but that one… "You and I are in a going concern that as of recently appears to be going nowhere."

"Going concern?"

"You really are fortunate you're so pretty," Crowley tutted. Dean was well and truly angry now. Insulting his sexual attractiveness, intelligence, and importance – well. The King of Hell was good at his job.

"Is there a point in this Crowley?" Dean asked while clenching his fists.

"I've changed my mind," the demon said as he narrowed his eyes. "The deal was open ended was it not? I've decided to close it. Sam has the Blade – get it. I'll let you know where Abaddon will be."

Crowley kept his face blank. The same blank face Dean had complimented him on in Vegas was now causing the hunter fits if the opening and closing of his mouth was anything to go by.

He snapped his fingers. Dean was gone. Well, moved to the farmhouse, but gone felt better.

This was good. A weapon wasn't a toy. Just like he didn't keep the Hell Hounds in the house because they were working animals, Dean needed to be reminded he wasn't anything more than a tool.

Then Crowley needed to remember it himself.

**S-S-S-S-S**

He stood there for a second and let the last thirty seconds replay.

Did he just get… fired?

By a demon?

Dean walked down the hallway into what he had claimed as his bedroom. He frowned to himself as he closed the door and leaned back against it. In the beginning he might have… maybe – okay, yes. He had been interested in how Crowley had made him feel. Well, how he's dick had felt anyway.

But Crowley had so easily brought in some girl in for Dean to abuse and not even seen how that could pose a problem…

Well, that was about as solid a sign that nothing would be happening down that way. No big loss – it was just curiosity anyway. A curiosity? More like a torture – Would it have been good? Would he have liked it? And now he'd never find out.

Damnit.

And of course there was Cas.

Castiel.

That was a can of worms that had a whole set of issues that Dean wasn't really ready to deal with. May never be ready to deal with. It was one think to screw around with somebody and experiment with somebody you didn't care about.

Dean cared about Cas. That was the whole problem. Everything revolved around Dean's inability to stay away from the angel even when he couldn't trust the idiot.

And that crap Crowley had said had to have hurt the angel, and no matter how angry Dean was at the guy, he just couldn't forget the look of pain. Dean's face had worn that look once too often for him to be comfortable with leaving it on his friends face. Even if Dean was the one doing it half the time.

And seriously, calling him sloppy seconds? Cas' sloppy seconds?

Fucker.

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket before falling on the bed. He needed to talk to somebody; he wasn't sure what about, but he needed to reach out. It was times like this that Bobby's voice would be just about the best thing in the world. Calling the old grump up would be exactly what would set Dean right. Of course, had he been able to reach out, it was possible none of this shit would have happened to begin with.

In theory, he could contact Cain. They weren't friends, but Cain seemed to be a good resource for information. Maybe he could tell Dean what the hell he was supposed to do with the feeling of loneliness.

The cold isolation that seemed to seep into his bones that he knew would lead to visions of Sam's blood. His skin laying flayed from his body, muscles twitching as the slightest breeze sent torment through his whole being. It wasn't even pain; it was too much to be called that.

Dean knew first hand.

He smoothed the wrinkles on the sheet before punching the bed – so fucking sick of this shit. Just… Not tonight. Please just not tonight.

Whatever.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Sam sat in the bunker and stared at the Blade in front of him.

Nothing.

He could touch it – even use it. Still, he felt nothing special. No tingles and certainly nothing like the boiling rage that had consumed Dean.

It even sort of sucked as a weapon. Which, since it was the literally the prototype of all knife like objects made by human hands, made sense at an intellectual level. There hadn't been examples to follow – plus it had been picked up off the ground in the heat of passion, right? Not really a lot of thought behind it.

But still…

When you picked a long blade as a weapon, you wanted good even weight; this thing was awkward and difficult to wield. Maybe Cain could do it since it was his, but when Sam tried to use it on the pig he'd hung in the kitchen for experimental purposes it had wobbled on the downward swing. True, a blade wasn't Sam's weapon of choice, but Dad had made damned sure he and Dean could pick up anything and kill.

Another thing that felt off about the Blade - the grip didn't work well. You'd think after all of human time, Cain would have taken the time to shave the damn thing down to actually fit snuggly in the palm of his hand, but the truth of the matter was, it was slightly too large. If it didn't fit Sam's large hands, well Cain's was a smaller man. Add the blood that had poured down the blade after a few swings, and the grip had started to slip. There was also no fuller to drain the blood away while in use, and the guard was all but useless for anything but the wrapping of leather to cushion the grip.

Now, for the absolute strangest part – the thing didn't have a center of gravity. All blades had one, but not this bad boy. Sam had tried to balance it at every point and it just fell. That actually shouldn't be possible. Scientifically possible.

Which lead to the next part. It didn't have a center of percussion either. Just anywhere you hit on the blade was perfect. Nothing transferred up your arm; every spot was a sweet spot. Which... If it didn't even have a center of gravity, what the hell?

Add that to the list of things he couldn't explain.

And yeah, Sam got the thing was magical or whatever, but things just… There still things that seemed to follow a set of rules. Angel blades didn't have to look like actual swords, but they did. They could look like light sabers or anything. Instead, it was called a sword – it looked and acted like a sword in all ways.

Not that it mattered.

It was this very blade was very likely going to take its pound of flesh from Sam. Finally getting what he deserved, and there wasn't a damn thing he was going to do to stop it. When the time came for Dean to purge the wrath that Sam's perfidy had caused…

Well, for once Sam would take it like a man. He wouldn't look for an out – no research to get the Mark off Dean and save himself from his brother's rage. Not this time.

That rage that was directed, rightfully so, at Sam.

He used to know right from wrong – at some point he'd been a good person. At least, he thought he was… but slowly he'd turned into everything he'd hated. At every turn it had been Dean to grab him kicking and screaming back into the light. The few good choices had always been for his brother. Funny how Dean's choices always benefitted not only Sam, but humanity in general.

Sam wasn't that good of a person.

Which is why he'd kneel for his brother's judgement without a word.

Looking around the bunker was a special kind of Hell now. Behind the sofa was Dean grinned in a stupid bathrobe holding a sword like a ninja. Dean was sometimes sitting across from him sipping coffee – completely not caring at all about getting dressed. A few times Sam saw Dean the first time he'd found the garage. Yeah, that had been hard to forget when Sam had found Baby left behind.

Then, of course, the music that Dean had always mixed into Sam's playlists. He could be cooking dinner and suddenly… It was a summer's day in the back seat with the windows rolled down. He was eleven and they'd just eaten a really good fried chicken lunch. Dad and Dean were screaming the lyrics so loud the actual music was long drowned out, and Sam could clearly see the pure happiness on Dean's face.

One of those weird crystal clear memories that only a song can bring back. The kind of intense misery that only a song can bring with that unexpected memory. A fading fucking reminder of what they'd had – what Sam had ruined.

Damn it. He wanted this pain to just go away – he wanted something he could never have. He wanted his brother.

And…

He didn't have anybody to talk to either. He couldn't call Cas again. Just no.

No way was he summoning Crowley, and Cain just might murder him for Dean. That man had issues more profound and more deeply buried than anything Sam had ever seen.

So… so now what?

Now he waited. He had the First Blade and at some point they'd need him. No way would he stay behind for that – at most he would help and at least he could serve as a distraction.

**S-S-S-S-S**

AN:

**Johnnie Walker: **A Scotch (which is a whiskey that must be made in Scotland)

**A Lever Long Enough – **Archimedes (famous Greek scientist) said "Give me a lever a long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world." A philosophical thought experiment in physics and metaphorical at the same time.

**Going Concern –** Accounting term for a business that has the means to continue running and meeting its goals.

**Sword terms: **I hope I explained as I went another what each one meant. It not,

**Pound of Flesh: **From the Merchant of Venice – Antonio literally owes a pound of flesh to the moneylender Shylock. That's the first literary reference to the phrase – it's a concept about owing a debt to somebody that is merciless and demanding (or a debt that is merciless in itself). The movie Seven Pounds explores this in a really awesome way. I don't wanna' give spoilers because if you haven't seen it, you should. It's good.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 MoD**

_Absence and death are the same, - only that in death there is no suffering. – Theodore Roosevelt_

**S-S-S-S-S-S**

It wasn't Cain's Mark.

Cain didn't put the mark on his arm; God had gone that.

As Dean sat at the table, the pie plate pushed aside, and stared at the raised red welts on his arm in anger. Yeah, he'd asked for it. That wasn't the problem – the problem stemmed from it being something directly from God.

The biggest dick in the bag of dicks.

Dean had followed his father like a good loyal foot soldier should and look where it landed him. The first time he'd stood up for himself had been the day he walked out. While it still hurt like hell, it felt good in a way too.

He picked up a pen and drew Cain's Mark. It was simple, and probably meant something. Dean could care less really. It meant jack over shit to him.

God wasn't around anymore to enforce the Mark, so why the hell did Dean need to carry the symbol of his wrath? If a Winchester was good for anything, it was messing things up.

Ever since being branded, the Mark had been a living thing. Not just whispering in his ear and projecting visions of death and blood, but buzzing under his skin. It felt like an itch you couldn't quite get to.

He put his hand over it and pressed. If it was alive…. Everything changes – nothing stands still. Including supernatural bullshit. He closed his eyes and thought about how he could pull a demon from a human. He wasn't trying to pull the mark, just twist it a little.

It fought – it fucking went into a frenzy it fought so hard. In the end, Dean was covered in sweat and he'd only managed to move the tail end a tiny bit.

He grinned and picked the pen back up. He needed a simple symbol…

Crap – what the hell was Dad always saying about sigils? They'd had lessons about them – learning to read them, write them, and even make some up. The power came from the sign itself and from the person knowing what it meant.

So, in theory… if Dean picked something that was all over the place and then claimed it, demons and angels alike would think of him. The sigil would gain power to protect. And who did Dean want to protect? Humans.

He would have to graffiti the hell out of the world, which wouldn't work; it would have to be something that existed already. Letters would be an obvious choice, but not all languages used the same letters. Numbers… They seemed to be universal? Too bad he'd hated math in school.

Suddenly, he tossed his head back laughing. It rolled over him like a full body sneeze and made him shiver when he finally stopped. Grinning he remembered one lesson from math class. It had been one of those times when they'd been dropped into a school midway through a school year, but knew they wouldn't even be staying long enough to take major tests. Why bother paying attention really? But then the teacher had said something that had caught Dean's attention. Really caught it.

It was some stupid math term that was used for a circle or something. Dean had bitched later to Sam – nerd had practically had an orgasm explaining it to Dean.

But really, if you had to pick something….

What better symbol to stand for Dean fucking Winchester?

3.14

Pi.

Who said math would be useless to a hunter?

Okay, time to get down to business. Dean closed his eyes again and pressed his hand over the Mark harder.

Time to make the thing his bitch.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Well, that was interesting.

Cain walked away from the hives and took off his hat and gloves. There had been a short burst of searing pain from his Mark, but the thing looked unchanged. Running his fingers over the raised ridges he'd long grown to know, he felt nothing different.

However, if Cain had learned anything in his existence it was to never accept things at face value. His Mark had never done anything like that before, and the only thing to have recently changed was Dean.

Time to check in it would seem.

Cain knocked on the front door of the run down house. It amused him a bit that this is where Dean choose to live. It was humble and ordinary – you would never expect to find a trouble maker like the elder Winchester living here. Maybe over a bar, but not in a small farm house in the middle of southern nowhere.

"Cain - Hey. Bet I know why you're here," Dean said with a raised eyebrow.

"You probably do," Cain offered his own small nod as Dean showed him inside.

"So, you felt that huh?"

"I… felt something," he hedged. As much as Cain actually enjoyed Dean's company, trust was something different. It was an ingrained habit to not lay all his cards on the table.

"Like…?" the man fished.

"Let's try this, you tell me what you did and then I tell you what I felt," Cain offered. To be honest, it wasn't so much an offer as the only way Dean was going to find out. There were always consequences to actions, and without all the information, Cain couldn't begin to put together a full picture. Without that, telling Dean anything wasn't happening.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and flopped down on the sofa and motioned for the Knight to take a seat in one of the chairs around the coffee table.

"Fine – so I thought I'd see if I could – uh," he looked around before standing up. "Want anything to drink? Beer, water?"

"Water would be fine," Cain replied. Diversion. It would appear the man wasn't completely at ease with what he'd done.

"You're immortal – it's not like you have to worry about your liver. I'd drink beer with cereal if I were you."

"I don't actually… cereal?" Cain fought to keep the smirk off his face. What was it about this man that just put him at ease?

"Sure – Beer'Os," Dean grinned as Cain finally let go and laughed.

"I believe I would actually pay to see that," he offered. "Quite a bit."

"All out of cereal," Dean said as he sat down with a water and a beer. "But if I'm ever strapped, I might hit you up."

They each took a sip before the green eyed man cleared his throat.

"So… When you were first marked, did you ever try anything to remove it? Some sort of spell or magic?"

"No," Cain shrugged. "How would I have done that exactly? We were the first humans; there was no lore. There was absolutely nothing. I tried to cut my lower arm off a few times-"

"What?!" Dean interrupted.

"If you had something about yourself that reminded you of the worse mistake of your life…" Cain shrugged. Really he thought it was rather self-explanatory. "I tried to cut my arm off. That's actually how I discovered I was immortal. The first time, I used a small knife. I figured I would bleed out, like a sheep. The slices would heal almost as fast as I could make them."

"Damn."

"So, I devised a rig to drop an ax on my lower arm. It… it sort of worked."

"How the hell can an ax 'sort of' work man?" Dean's face was a mixture of shock and disgusted interest.

"It stopped almost all the way through as my arm healed. I had to dig it out," Cain grimaced. "That was actually the end of my experiments to cut my arm off for a while."

"– for a while?"

"As human technology advanced, I would try different things," Cain said with a shrug. "The working theory was that the mark contained the power that forced this immortality on me. So…"

"So, getting rid of the mark would get rid of the immortality. Which is your real curse – which is why I have the mark," Dean finished and Cain nodded. Why lie? It was true – Dean was going to kill him when this was all over. It all he'd wanted since the moment he's seen Abel laying bloodied at his feet.

It didn't matter why he'd killed his brother at that exact moment – just that his brother was dead by his own hand. Saving people from the demon Abel wanted to let loose? Not good enough to sooth the pain.

Well, that pain had managed to last in the form of this never ending life. Or a mockery of life at least.

"Right – so entertain me. Cable's out. Tell me how you tried to," Dean made a cutting motion on his arm and a vaguely slurping noise that was supposed to indicate… That man was strange in ways that Hell hadn't even guessed.

"I'm going to skip the boring ones. The biggest one was in the trebuchet-"

"Get the fuck out!" Dean yelled while grinning. "You… wait. You – how?"

"I knew cutting wouldn't work, so I attached my arm with rope to the arm. I made sure I was weighted down under a stab of stone – not like it would kill me," Cain said with bitterness. That whole day had been a mess in so many ways. He'd had to pay a fortune to have those men to do his bidding. And when he didn't die and his arm stayed attached? Abaddon had been furious that he had exposed himself. She'd made sure those men never spent a single coin.

"And…"

"And, the wood I was attached to broke," Cain frowned.

"Fuck," Dean's eyes were wide. He looked like… he looked like a little brother listening to his older brother's stories. A shot of longing went through Cain – to have a younger brother look up to him again.

"There was another one that made an impression," he grinned to himself. "At that point, I knew that blades could cut into the skin, but human speed was too slow to finish the job. Plus the arm needed to be pulled as it was separated."

"You really put a lot of thought into this…" Dean sounded impressed which was a little disturbing. Who was impressed by tales of self-mutilation? Of course, they were Cain's stories, so really he wasn't one to judge.

"Since before years were counted. Anyway – I tied my arm to the reins of a horse that would be pulling it away while it was being chopped off by a guillotine-"

"You are so fucking bad ass!" Dean interrupted. Very much like what Cain imagined a hero worshipping younger brother might be like.

If the world had been fair, Dean and Cain would have been brothers. They would have worked well together. Cain knew how important family was, and Dean was clearly starving for something like Cain wished he'd had with Abel.

"Rather. But at that point, the guillotine was stopped by the bone in my arm," Cain shrugged. "So, not only am I immortal, I'm indestructible as well. It would seem."

"So… Super healing?"

Cain nodded.

"Hmm." For maybe the first time since meeting the man, Dean looked concerned. "The super healing is why your immortal I'm betting. Or at least adds to it – otherwise, you'd be a hot mess of a corpse."

Dean pulled up his pants leg and showed Cain a cut on his leg. It wasn't bad, but… But it was a cut. That was the point. The skin was still a dark pink and puckered along a clear line. It shouldn't have been there at all if Dean had the same healing that Cain had been talking about.

"When did it happen?"

"This morning. It was pretty bad – I was impressed at how quickly it closed up, but now-" Dean shrugged. "Exactly how quickly does your mojo close you up?"

Cain stood up and walked into the kitchen grabbing a knife off the counter. He felt like an idiot – was he really about to show off like this? Because Cain was at least honest with himself – he wanted to impress Dean a little.

Turning the knife around, he offered it handle first to Dean.

"Slice as deep as you like across my palm," Cain offered. Dean didn't even ask if he was sure; He just grabbed the proffered palm and cut with a steady and straight line.

Before Dean even reached the end of his cut, the top had completely healed as if the skin had never been broken.

"I want to be you when I grow up," Dean looked up at Cain with awe and sounded so sincere.

"Your body is fixing itself faster – It might be changing slowly," Cain said nodding to Dean's forearm. "Unless you managed to get the mark off?"

"Yeah – no," Dean managed to look a little sheepish. It wasn't a good look on the man.

"What did you do?"

"I'm not a big fan of playing by other people's rules," Dean said while looking at Cain straight in the eye.

"I've been informed. At length, and at great volume and by many people," Cain agreed. The man appeared proud at that statement. So strange.

"Yeah, so – the mark. It's alive, right?"

"It is?"

"Haven't you felt it?

Cain didn't say anything. Never confirm or deny, though in this case he had already confirmed at least some of his ignorance, he didn't need to add to it.

"Look, it sort of… sits there. It exists. It's not like a tattoo – it's real and alive. It protects itself – which is why you can't kill yourself I guess," Dean seemed to think about that for a moment before nodding to himself. "Yeah, that makes sense. The Mark doesn't care about you – you're the host really."

"The Mark is a punishment Dean. From God."

"See, that's the thing. God's not exactly up front about shit. He marked you. And he told you a bunch of shit that might have served a purpose at the time, but if that dickwad's about anything it's the long con," Dean sneered.

"What?" Cain could admit he felt confused. The rumor mill he'd ignored for so long had been very clear on the elder Winchester – the man's train of thought could be more than difficult to predict. It's what made him such a powerful enemy. Or ally.

"If God wanted to punish you, why would he have left you with all this power to _help_ hell? Eternally alone? Suffering? Yeah, that's punishment. You're like an arch angel of hell – why would he make you that as a punishment? You seem to be the only one that hates it. No – that doesn't track."

"So – He had another plan. A long term plan. You're a piece on a chess board man. He placed you, knowing you wouldn't be corrupted like Abaddon, to sit in reserve waiting for something. Like I said – bag of dicks."

Cain's mouth dropped open. He shut it.

"How do you know?" Cain asked. It made sense in a way, but still. How was he supposed to believe a man who had only been marked for second compared to Cain?

A mask slipped over Dean's face as he stood. The man started pacing slowly before he started talking in slowly in a measured voice.

"You want my resume? Fine. I'm the fucking vessel to the archangel Michael. I sold my soul to Hell, which led to being tortured and torturing other damned souls. Been possessed any number of times. I've died so many times I stopped even counting at this point. I've had dinner with Death, and actually took the job of death for a short time. I wasn't very good. Killed War. The horseman." He stopped for a breath before continuing.

"Stopped the apocalypse – the big one. I've traveled in time, both forward and backward; I have an angel as a best friend, and I've hunted the supernatural since I could walk. My first memories are of a demon burning my mother to death. Cured Crowley of being a demon – while he was King of Hell. It made him a junkie."

Cain snorted, but Dean just glared. Oh. The man was serious. You could 'cure' a demon? That… that was possible? Cain had never heard of that.

"Ask him yourself." Dean shrugged before continuing.

"I've been tortured a hundred times like I said, and I've killed so often enough I'm more than qualified to top the list of most prolific serial killers. I like to think I was saving people so it doesn't count, but aside the human world would probable think of me as evil. Oh, wait. I know they do. I've been at the top of the most wanted list. Oh! Also been chased by a reaper."

"–" Cain tried to say something, but Dean threw up a hand.

"I'm not done. I've been pulled from Hell by Castiel on orders from as unknown source which may or maybe not have been God himself. My whole body was rebuilt from dirt and my soul was bound with the Grace of an actual angel of the Lord. I have a whole Gospel being written about me by a prophet of the Lord. Might actually still be actively being written. Which is fucking creepy. Um… Oh yeah – I'm the 'Righteous Man'- some kind of angelic fairytale."

"I've been a ghost, spent a year running from and killing monsters in purgatory. I was put into a few pocket dimensions by a Loki. Been murdered everyday for shits and giggles for a lesson for Sam everyday for an undefined amount of time. Been under a djinn's spell and escaped. I became a vampire for a while… I'm sure there's more, but I can't think of anything at the moment."

Cain knew his eyes were wide. It was one thing to judge a man by the enemies he made, but this was another level. How did you begin to judge a man by the things he conquered in his life when the list was this… epic?

"Now, when I tell you the Mark is alive… I don't know how I know. It is. You want proof?" Dean pulled the sleeve of his shirt up.

That was not Cain's Mark.

"I changed it. It's mine."

"I -," Cain cleared his throat. "I have several questions."

"I bet you do…" Dean said sitting back on the sofa after grabbing his beer.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Ok, so Dean was feeling a little smug.

It wasn't every day somebody got to put a gob smacked expression on the original biblical bad boy.

"I – what exactly did you do?"

Dean stared at Cain for a moment. How did you put into words something that you just knew how to do? You can tell somebody to whistle by putting their lips together and blowing, but unless you show them… words just aren't enough.

"I could show you, but I'm not sure I could explain it well. I put my hand over it, and… found it. I pulled it into the sigil I wanted." Damn – that sounded so lame. "Look, give me your arm and I can show you?"

There was silence from Cain, and Dean couldn't help but frown.

"Tell me why Pi," Cain asked instead of answering.

"Uh – There are a couple of different types of sigils we use. The whole sigil magic thing is not my thing, but they can summon, protect, and sort of… mark? Like a dog peeing in the park. Just claiming a place." Dean scratched his chin while thinking how best to explain an idea that had been nothing but a vague plan up to this point.

Now it was crashing into his head almost fully formed, but not completely thought out.

"Okay, the Pi symbol is a mathematical symbol so it's used all over the world. A sigil is only as powerful as the person who claims it and as much as it gets used. Dude – 3.14? Any kid knows what it looks like, how to draw it."

Cain nodded.

"So… How to explain this," Dean tapped his leg as he tried to think of an example. "Pirates. Everybody knows the Jolly Roger and what it means. It's the original pirate flag right? So what's it look like?" Dean asked.

"White skull and cross bones on a black back ground," Cain answered.

"Not really. Originally pirates used red and black flags. Easy to see. Black meant don't fight and nobody will get hurt. Red of course meant blood. The plain black one was called the Jolly Roger. Had nothing on it."

"Interesting, but I don't see-"

"Hold on. The skull and cross bones? It means a couple of different things in different settings. On the side of a bottle of bleach? Poison. In a graveyard? Death. On a ship? Pirate. At College? A frat. In a story? The villain. On a door? Danger."

"So… You got that part?" Cain nodded while looking thoughtfully at Dean. "Great. Now for the rest of it."

He took a deep breath as the tension drained from his shoulders a bit. As long as the man had been able to follow that far the rest was easy. That lesson had taken his dad months to get through Dean's head. A symbol or sigil could mean more than one thing to any number of groups, but at the same time… At the same time it could still be magical.

Dean was going to do his level best to make Pi a magical sigil of protection over all of humanity. Every time it was written, it would be like an unknown prayer. When posters were up on a wall, it may as well be a neon sign…

Protected by Dean Winchester.

It wouldn't do much to begin with – it would act like a billboard to the supernatural bad guys; something they could ignore if they wanted, but it would still give them pause. But as Dean defended people and wrote the sigil in the aftermath, it would become attached to him and his cause. Defending the defenseless.

Every sigil had to start somewhere; that was how it worked.

In history, you picked a sigil and poured your power into it; out came a weapon.

And Dean Winchester had been trained his whole life to be a weapon. He was a damned good one.

So, put that Pi sigil on a piece of paper, write it in your homework, use it in your calculator, or just say it out loud – each time it was heard by a supernatural being it would gain power.

Like a supernatural rumor mill. The legend around it would grow and grow until finally it was known as a protection symbol as well as a math symbol and humans wouldn't even know why – they'd just accept it.

**S-S-S-S-S**

**AN:**

Gah – Did any of this make sense? It's sort of important to the plot and I tried to explain it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 MoD**

"_Don't call a woman a bitch, call her an asshole. It still gets your point across, and it's not sexist." anon_

**S-S-S-S-S**

Red hair. Red lips and Red nails. Red Mark.

Red hot temper.

If she could have gotten away with it out in the world without drawing attention, Abaddon would have made her eyes red as well. This body's skin showed every crimson curl and fabric like a fresh a line of blood on a crisp sheet strung out on a line to dry.

Then… The Winchesters. These two boys had managed to cut her beautiful head off and put it in a box. Who did that? It was rude and had been dull beyond reason.

If there was any bright spot in that little aberration, it had to have been that she'd had plenty of time to think about what she would do to that nasty waste of space when she finally got her hands on him. And now, thanks to Cain, she might have a long time to take her revenge on the eldest Winchester. Good times.

Regardless, she was back. Abaddon cracked her neck and rubbed her upper thigh over that raised bit of raw power as she drove down some rural road. The mark had flared earlier tonight and caught her off guard. She's had hers located in a less noticeable location – It wasn't easy to move among humans if you had identifying marks.

Eons and the mark had sat there doing nothing - a raised scar that never faded. Suddenly Winchester gets one, and it starts hurting. That man… While she might have thought about rolling around with him, that fantasy lasted about as long as it took to actually meet him properly. Boy had no manners.

Abaddon pulled up her skirt and glanced down at the mark quickly before looking back at the road. Nothing appeared to have changed – the texture and color were the same, but something was different. Where before the Mark had been nothing more than a bit of marred puckered skin, now it almost vibrated. She could feel it under her skin.

Usually, she had complete control in any situation, but this… Abaddon wasn't even sure what it was. Every time she's tried to feel out what sat under there, a wall had been thrown up. A solid wall that she couldn't get around in any way, not even to feel out the shape of it.

Well, she thought as she pulled in front of a large clapboard house, time to pay a visit to Cain. He's the one who gave Winchester the Mark – there was no way he'd not felt that.

She wrinkled her nose and smoothed the skirt back down before opening the car door.

This business with Cain giving Dean the Mark, and all that power, had been completely out of line. It always been the same with him – bitching and whining. Making decisions without thinking it out. Like falling in love with a human or that insanity with trying to remove his arm. Seriously? The man was a menace.

Well, maybe for once she could get a bit of useful information from him. Such an inherently useless warrior; a spineless excuse for a man. He was utterly inadequate when it came to having such power.

**S-S-S-S-S**

In retrospect, Cain should have expected a visit from Abaddon. It said a lot about his current state of readiness that he had never thought about her feeling what Dean had done to the Mark as well.

God, he hated that woman. How was it possible for someone to actually be more evil than Lucifer himself? That wasn't an idle question either. At least the Morning Star had reasons for his actions that made sense. Goals. Granted, Cain wasn't a huge supporter most of the time, but still...

Abaddon tended to be a collection of impulse control issues wrapped up in violence. She may decide on a plan for a while, but if you ask about a long term strategy… She'd shrug you off as if explaining it was too bothersome. Obviously no one could understand a plan as grand as the one she had put together, so really she was doing everyone a favor by not taxing their poor brains. It was all very complicated and cloak-and-dagger.

Really? He may have believed her a few times, but it had soon been proven she was a complete mess. Ultra-violent and extremely useful to those who directed them of course, but unstable at the best of times. And the worst?

Well, Cain only wished she'd been just unstable. A table could be unstable and still stand and serve a purpose. Abaddon? When she lost her focus she was a meteor strike – devastating everything without any side even knowing what was coming. It didn't matter if she hurt her own long term interests, only that she annihilate her foe.

"Cain," she sneered as she walked into his house before he could even get a word out. Bitch. Cain generally respected woman, but if ever a one had deserved the word, it was Abaddon.

"Of course – come in," he said as he followed her into the kitchen. She'd made herself at home by sitting at his table.

"Let's skip the usual pleasantries shall we? What happened?"

"We have pleasantries?" Cain asked. Always make your enemy angry so they slip up and give more information than they meant to.

"Shut up. I know you gave the Mark to Winchester, and now it's suddenly shooting pain all over the place," she pointed a long red talon at him.

"So…" He shrugged as he waited for her to ask a question. It wasn't common knowledge, but he had assumed she would know by now. If she hadn't known, he would have been surprised.

"So, I want to know what he did to the Mark. He's trying to change it, and I want to know how."

Now, that caught him a little off guard. Her first guess had been dead on; usually she had to fish a little. She wasn't usually so observant that she could put two and two together so quickly and so accurately. Cain could be honest, at least in the privacy of his own head; Abaddon was an excellent at a number of things. She got demons to follow her not through the usual assignment channels. They volunteered to work under her. Abaddon inspired some sort of strange allegiance with the force of her personality. And perhaps the most dangerous thing was the flashes of brilliant tactical dirty fighting that would leave Sun Tzu red-faced. It never ended well to forget she was as dangerous as she was gorgeous and unpredictable.

Cain had been thinking a long time about how much he hated his life and the curse on his arm. Winchester had in a matter of hours managed to give him a completely new perceptive. The man was all manner of smart and shrewd in a way that the Knights had never been. That made Dean terrifyingly dangerous. It would take a little time to figure out exactly what Cain wanted to do with that information, but until then, he needed to keep the status quo in place. Which meant playing nice with her.

Well, as nice as he ever played with Abaddon.

"I visited him," Cain started. "He ranted about his brother, and Crowley was there."

"I could care less about Crowley the worm," Abaddon had always underestimated her opponents. "Did you ask him about the Mark? Did you even look at it?"

"No," Cain lied, "it was covered."

"You didn't even try to find out what he did?" she asked incredulously.

"Look Abaddon," Cain finally raised his voice. She would expect him to lose his temper at some point. "Just get to the point?"

"Does he have our power?"

"He's a human. What could he seriously do?" Cain set his face with a look of disbelief. "How would he have – he's just a clever hunter, right?"

"Yes…" Abaddon answered slowly. Too slowly.

"Is there something I need to know? Anything to be concerned about?" Cain asked.

She paused. Her nailed tapped out a nervous rhythm on the table – always her one tell. After all this time, the Knight sitting across from him had yet to figure out that Cain had long ago learned to read her like an open book. An irrational menacing book.

"Is he a threat?" he pushed.

"You gave him the Mark so he could kill me, right?" she asked while completely ignoring all his questions. She was so full of herself, it never even occurred to her that Cain would try to lie.

"Among other reasons," Cain nodded. "A bit of fun. We both know that won't happen. But you're right that I was looking for a way out. I figured it would be a bit of sport before finally getting my end."

It was entertaining watching her trying to decide if she should tell him about Dean beheading her.

"Your exit isn't in my plans. Sorry dear. Regardless, something may need to done to take Dean off the board sooner rather than later." She stood up and walked towards the front door without a farewell.

Well, that certainly didn't sound good to say the least.

**S-S-S-S-S**

"You have a problem," Cain said startling the man sitting on the sofa watching TV. Dean needed to pay more attention.

"Knock next time and that'll solve at least one of them," Dean sighed. "What happened this time?"

"Adabbon felt the Mark, she knows it was you, and she's done waiting. She's not going after Crowley now; she's decided you're the threat," he summarized.

"Fuck," Dean nodded – he'd been afraid of something like this. Abaddon knew exactly how dangerous a Winchester could be as a regular hunter – add a Mark and it wasn't shocking she was gunning for him.

"Indeed," Cain agreed.

"Fuck," Dean repeated. Somethings needed to be repeated, and this was one of them. "Any ideas?"

"Several. None good though," the Knight shook his head. "Crowley could help, but he's not at the top of my list of allies. Your angel is powerful, but you have history there and it might get in the way. I'm not going to touch your family."

Dean nodded as he started pacing. This had to be what Cain had meant about a curse. Forever alone. Estranged from Cas and then this thing with Sam… Well, at least he could think the asshole's name without shaking with rage. That was progress, right? Unfortunately, Dean probably could use his help right now. Too bad he wouldn't ask for that help. Or use it.

And while he might trust Cain to a certain point, he still didn't know the man. Was he any good at planning? When push came to shove, would he cut and run or stand and fight? The Knight was too much of an unknown to form a plan around him without backup. Which Dean didn't have.

"Fuck," Dean said again because it deserved saying yet again.

"You need somebody you trust," Cain said.

"No offense - It's not that I don't trust you man," Dean started, because it was a very bad idea to offend an ally right before a battle. Especially your only ally. "I just don't know you."

"None taken. You don't." Damn. Dean was almost looking forward to fighting next to the man; they had the potential to really work seamlessly. And if Sam were to be added… if they put their minds to it, the world would be theirs. Or could be if they were, ya' know, evil.

"You don't my history with Cas, but… I dunno'. Tell me what you thought?"

Cain opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked away as he thought.

"From what I gathered – no. Let me ask you a question; have you ever given up on him?"

"I…" Dean snapped his mouth shut.

"I didn't think so. He's the center of your life. Not the love exactly, just you two orbit each other. You always will. He can ruin himself, and you will always take him back. But when you destroy yourself he'd pick the pieces up for you as well."

"That's fucking weird shit man," Dean glared at Cain. People didn't just say crap like that. Who even saw that kind of personal stuff – if it was even true.

"Be that as it may, he'll never leave your side for long. It's just my observation. You know more about the situation than I do of course. Am I wrong?" Cain asked.

"So what? I'm supposed to ask him to prom now?"

"You don't listen very well," Cain sighed. "He's your… there's a word for it – romantic friendship?"

"What did you – Nope. Just no." Dean rubbed between his eyes. What was the deal lately with the world trying to pair him off with guys? Was there some paranormal sign flashing "Dicks needed, apply here"?

"Romantic friendship Dean, it is love, but platonic. Modern western culture has completely eclipsed the concept, but you and Castiel share it," Cain said without breaking eye contact.

Dean knew he needed to say something, but for the life of him there was nothing.

"Really? Still nothing?" the knight asked with a click of his tongue. "Fine. Like Achilles and Patroclu." Dean shrugged. He knew who Achilles was because of his heel, but not the other guy.

"Cas and I aren't romantic man," Dean really needed this to be clear.

So, Dean may have thought a few times about sleeping with his angel - especially recently. Read: flashing sign. But he and Cas weren't like that.

In the beginning, if things had been different, he might have explored some of his desires. Maybe.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this," Cain muttered.

"What?" Dean asked pulling himself out of that little trip down the rabbit hole.

"You have a bromance," Cain said after taking a deep breath.

"Like Damon and Affleck," Dean nodded his head. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Who?" the man looked more than a little lost. Briefly Dean wondered if, in a few eons, he too would be as hopelessly lost at pop culture references. How much time and effort would someone need to expend to try and keep up before finally just throwing their hands up in the air and giving up?

"Nothing." Dean tapped his fingers against his thigh as his thought swirled. He needed…

He needed to get his angel here. There was too much on the line to worry about Cas and what was going on in Heaven or not. The man had said he would follow Dean, and it was time to put that to test. A trial by fire if you will. Dean needed an ally he _knew_ – both the good and the bad.

Whatever Cas' failings may be, the angel would lay his life down in a fight he'd committed himself to, and right now that's what Dean needed. That was the beginning and end of it. It was, at best, an eight percent chance the angel would keep word of what they were up to quiet. Maybe better, but only time would prove if his word was to be trusted. Finally.

Dean nodded to Cain. Time to bring in the Heavenly gun.

"Cas, get your feathery ass – self here," no asses. Just enough with the whole boyfriend romance stuff. God knowns what Cain was going to bring up and put in Cas' brain.

"Yes Dean," Cas said from behind him. Seriously? Still? Whatever. Somethings never changed and that was a comfort. Of sorts.

"You said you anything I need?"

"_Anything_," thing angle without hesitating.

"I'm on Abaddon's radar. She's decided I'm her new chew toy, not Crowley," Dean summed up.

"Fuck," Cas said pulling a grin from Dean. Cas smiled back. The tension Dean didn't even know he'd been holding in his shoulders began to loosen. He cracked his neck. He could totally do this.

"Right. What do I need?"

"Sam," Cas said without missing a beat and without breaking eye contact. "He's suffering and he's sorry. He'd lay down his life for you right now. Even if all you needed was a distraction knowing he'd die. Fodder if you will."

"Noted," Dean wasn't expecting that frank answer from Cas. He was expecting a plea to talk and a bunch of man pain bullshit. "Tell me what Heaven knows about Knights of Hell."

"Cain was the first of course, but the Mark was not meant to force him into Morning Star's service," Cas said without hesitation. "It caused more upheaval in Heaven when it was discovered that the Mark conveyed power. Gabriel thought it hilarious, Raphael wanted to destroy Cain where he stood, and Michael was so angry that Father had created an enemy as strong as any archangel that he refused orders for longer than any time before or since."

Dean barely kept his jaw from dropping. It was more information on the inner workings and machinations of Heaven than Cas had ever offered up before.

"There were scores upon scores of Knights made over time. Each time Lucifer tried to create a copy of Cain; some where more powerful than others, but none were a match. Then came Abaddon. She's as powerful in some ways, less in others. More in a few."

Cain snorted.

"Her willingness to embrace violence and follow orders makes her a menace in ways Cain will never be. Her ability to think 'outside the box' opens up a whole range of weapons most never think to defend against. So while she may not be more supernaturally powerful than you, she's more powerful in other ways that make her more of a threat," Cas narrowed his eyes at the Knight. "Don't fool yourself into thinking your powers are any more powerful than hers."

"Uh, yeah. Anything else?" Dean quickly asked before the two could get into it. The last thing he needed was for his only allies to start fighting.

"Cain is weak in that he was created by sin as punishment. The power wasn't wanted, not embraced nor desired, so it never sunk in. It created an imbalance which Lucifer could never reconcile; that's why his experiments failed." The angel paused to think – his eyes glazed over slighted as his mind drifted back to times so long past.

"Castiel, how sure are you I haven't embraced my power? I've never made a Knight myself before now after all," if looks could kill, Cas would be flat on the floor.

"You helped make Abaddon," he stated.

"Shut up angel," Cain countered as he walked towards the angel. Crap – this was getting out of control fast. "I was forced to help and you know it."

"Offering to kill you was a bargain. A deal if you will – something Lucifer is a master at. It isn't forcing however," his angel pointed out. Dean frowned. Knowing what he did now, Dean thought it might actually be damn close to forcing him. Cain hated this existence more than anything, and to be offered an out…

"Enough Cas," was all Dean had to say and for once the angel backed down at once. That was a new one. "Thank you for all the information, but Cain did what he had to do. Remember Heaven set the whole thing in motion for whatever reason. This falls on them."

"Heaven has not always made the best of choices," Cas allowed. Dean snorted as Cain rolled his eyes.

"So, what now?" the hunter pushed through trying to get things back on track.

"We need to draw her out on our own terms and try to end this. The longer Abaddon has, the more unstable she becomes," Cain said.

"Call Crowley," Cas added completely unexpectedly. "He's got the most to gain and the most to lose in this, hence he's the one that's most likely to offer the most help. Our best plan right now is for Abaddon to assume Cain is on her side or at the very least that he wouldn't tell us her plans. Crowley would know how best to draw her out. You're going to need Sam – it's not up for discussion. You don't need to talk to him, but you need him. He's going to be useful."

Dean may or may not have done a good job at hiding his pleased smile. This was the Cas he'd always wanted. Smart, loyal, and so fucking dangerous. Loyal being the key.

"How are we going to draw her out before she's ready? Abaddon's a lot of things, but gullible not one of them," Cain pointed out.

"I'm going to do what I do best," Dean grinned like a kid in a candy store. "I'm going to piss her the hell off."

"That's something you _are_ singularly equipped to do," Cain grumbled.

"Crowley," Dean shouted into the air.

**S-S-S-S-S**

When Crowley was alive he was not known for his tolerance. He was neither a kind nor a patience man. Perhaps it goes without saying – after all it took a certain type of person to make a deal with the devil for a bigger prick. A much bigger prick truth to tell.

But above all else, it took a special type of bastard to be proud of his deal and rise above other demons to become King of Hell.

He _may_ have exercised a small amount of poor judgement in trying to get Winchester in bed, but to be honest – one look at the magnificent bastard it was self-explanatory as to why his head had been turned. Putting that aside, Crowley still had to work with the idiot.

Which was why when he heard the call… Call? No, it had been a scream. The low brow actions of a classless halfwit. And when he showed up -

"Bloody hell, Feathers. Why did I bother? See this is why you can't have nice things Dean," Crowley couldn't believe the damned hunter had waited less than forty eight hours to show himself to the angel again. Again.

"I need a demon," Dean said apropos of nothing.

"I tried to give you an exquisite one, and you broke it," Crowley smirked at the hurt look Cas shot Dean. "She's still heartbroken."

"I'll bet. I need one of Abaddon's demons. I have a message I need it to deliver."

"You're actually touched in the head aren't you? I've wondered before, of course, but using one of her demons as a UPS service has to be top of the line in crazy," Crowley wondered if the Mark drove people daft. It would explain so much.

"Shut up," Dean clinched his fist as his eyes hardened.

Now, Crowley hated the very idea of honesty. Telling the truth never ended well for the truth teller, and doing good only came back to bite the doer. It absolutely went against everything he stood for, but it was always a brilliant idea to be cruelly honest with yourself. You never wanted your enemies to know your weaknesses before you yourself became aware of them.

The point was this: Crowley was scared. Dean's fist was, to casual observer, resting at his side. To Crowley? It was slowly crushing him. Not the air out his lungs or anything so pedestrian – it was actually pressing on him so heavily, on every fiber of his being, that he felt like he would collapse inward.

"Fine. Sparkles can bring you lot," Crowley snarled. If Dean was in a vicious mood, far be it for Crowley to keep him from finding a few new play things.

They followed him to a small warehouse in a nondescript part of town. It wasn't isolated, but not busy either. As much as Crowley hated Abaddon, he had to admire her foresight in accommodations. Remote enough to get business done without attraction attention, but not so isolated to invite attacks. There was a road with cars traveling down every so often.

Absolutely the perfect combination of protected by humans and ignored by the same. Bloody brilliant.

"After you boys," Crowley offered. He wasn't about to get his hands dirty because Dean wanted to pull on Abaddon's pony tails.

"Coward," Cain spat as he walked by.

"Judicious," he corrected. You didn't have to join every fight you were invited to after all.

Though perhaps 'fight' was an overstatement. There had been three demons; the moment they'd noticed the hunter, two had fled. The slowest one was already trapped in Dean's bloody Jedi fist and being forced from his vessel.

"What…" Cas couldn't even form a full question. Of course, that was about what one would expect from the winged brigade.

"Watch this," Dean smirked as he… What the hell?

This was a new one. He seemed to twist his fist and flick it open towards the curling cloud of smoking demon. A loud shriek nearly forced Crowley to cover his ears before it was cut off. And then hanging in the air was a demon in its smoke form with a massive sigil working its way into the curling oily smoke like a living being.

It would be a lie to say it didn't scare the ever loving fuck out of him. And Crowley did so hate to lie to himself.

Other yes. Himself? Never.

"Now, go run home to mommy and tell her Dean Winchester says hello," the hunter laughed.

"You're a bloody idiot," Crowley stepped back a bit. "She's going to come after you now. Damnit Dean!"

"She already is," Cain interrupted.

"God, that was fun," Dean smiled as he replayed the whole thing in his head.

"We need to catch Crowley up," Cas said patiently. Wait, Feathers was the voice of reason, and Abaddon was already after Dean?

"What the bloody fuck have you lot been up to?" Crowley yelled at the three men. This was going to take a while.

**S-S-S-S-S**

She looked across the street at the four of them: an angel, a demon, a Knight of Hell, and a Winchester. Walking out of that warehouse as if nothing had happened.

That son of a bitch. Abaddon had been sending her demons into battles for so long that she had long since stopped bothering to count the exact number of her losses on any given day. But this…

How dare Winchester do this.

Once the cloud of smoke had poured into the room, she'd known something had gone very wrong. That sickly purple glowing sign that seemed to pulse through the whole of her soldier's form. There had been some confusion as the demon tried to answer her questions while screaming. The screaming may or may not have been due to Abaddon's trying to pull the mark off.

Off? The damned sigil had been seared through the entirety – there was no 'off'. No 'out' either. She'd tried carving it out, that hadn't ended well. It simply filled the voids as she tried to hack it away - like trying to dig a hole in sand.

Winchester.

And Cain? That fucker. He'd been standing next to Dean watching, and surprise – Dean's Mark just happened to look like that abomination that she couldn't remove from her demon. Son of a bitch.

It had been a wave of her red tipped hand to scatter the smoke and put the poor failure out of its misery. You know what they said about misery and how it loved company.

She'd planned on spending a few hours tonight fleshing out a few plans for Winchester and how to finally take him out. It was a game – a dance if you will. There was using that tall brother of his to lure him into a trap. Or maybe an ambush. There was always the classic full frontal attack. Always fun.

But after this?

After this, she's just go for the elegant and simple. Why try to find a way around wards or holy water when you could just use what resources were so helpfully left about?

**S-S-S-S-S**

Never let it be said that your life passes in front of your eyes right before you die. It does that the whole time you're alive. _Right_ before you die, your death passes before your eyes.

Dean didn't even manage to get a word out of his mouth before the car ploughed into him. It wasn't even some good old American steel – it was some shitty foreign rice job. The problem with that observation was that it didn't matter. Less than two tons of machinery hitting a soft body going fifty miles an hour head on doesn't leave much room for derision about the type of car.

Fuck, that hurt. Just everywhere. He could feel his heart stutter as his lungs struggled to inflate. Were they collapsed, ribs broken? He opened his eyes – it didn't matter. He saw bone through the river of blood pouring from a gash in his ribcage.

He reached up to try and staunch the bleeding. As his hands sunk further into his actual chest cavity than he expected, he felt a wet heat in his crotch. Looking down, he saw the huge red bloom from his right upper thigh spreading down to his knee.

Dean closed his eyes. Two huge gaping holes in his body? The blood was already slowing down from the hole in his chest; add a severed femoral artery… No way.

So…

Dean had two last thoughts.

The first one was that Sam was going to be so pissed that he never got to spill his girly man pain all over the place. Trying to forgive the asshole or not, that was one bullet he'd managed to dodge.

The second was that Cas' eyes looked even bluer when they were filled with tears.

**S-S-S-S-S**

AN:

Just ask yourself – does Dean ever really die?

Art of War – Sun Tzu. The definitive work of military strategy by an ancient Chinese military strategist and tactician.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 MoD

**S-S-S-S-S**

_We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the full. – Marcel Proust_

**S-S-S-S-S**

The world stopped.

A quick glance at the car showed Cas that it had continued until a wall stopped its deadly run; black smoke poured from an older man that was obviously dead. Abaddon.

Cas swore he felt the whole planet stutter in its rotation for a moment before the noise broke through his shock. It took him only a moment to get to the hunter, and only a second more to see the damage. Dean looked down at the gaping hole in his chest and tried to cover it. It was useless.

The bleeding from his leg was going to kill him long before the chest wound.

Castiel sent a prayer to whoever was listening to send whatever power they could for the man who had saved them all before laying his hands on Dean's chest. The hunter closed his eyes, and Cas felt the last few skips of a heart trying to pump blood that simply was not there.

The white light poured from his hands, but something was wrong. Instead of sinking into the battered body beneath him, it was refused. Cas pushed harder, and was met with a wall that started to push back – a pain began to sear up his arm.

"Heal him Castiel," Crowley growled.

"I am trying!" Castiel decided to try something else. He pushed the healing light away and pulled on the thread of his Grace that sat in Dean's soul. It still sung with the song of Heaven and hummed in joy at Cas' touch. But when he tried to use it to knit the body of his hunter back together…

The Grace simply stayed where it was and continued its simple song as if Cas had not asked for anything.

Fine – he still had one more thing to try. Stepping between the dimensions, the angel unfolded his entire celestial being. He wrapped the time frozen body of Dean Winchester in his multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. Right now, he intended to heal the vessel of the Righteous Man.

And there was the problem – in this form he could see the sigil like a living being sitting next to Cas' Grace. It was preventing any healing attempts – the Mark was the mark of sin, and nothing holy was going to affect it.

Folding himself back in his vessel, Castiel looked helplessly to Cain and then Crowley.

"You try Crowley," Cas begged.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"You heal people and bring people back from the dead all the time – you are a cross roads demon. Do that!" The angel could feel the last of his control slipping. This was not happened; it could not happen.

"I don't really think-"

"Crowley, do it," Cain said in a low voice.

The demon nodded and snapped his fingers. He snapped again.

"Bloody hell - It's not working," Crowley sneered. "It's not a magic trick. I need a soul or something. A bargain. Something in exchange for Dean's life."

"I offer you a favor," Cain said.

Crowley stopped ranting and stared at the Knight.

"Anything anytime?" the King of Hell clarified. "You cannot end yourself before I call my favor in."

"Within ten years," Cain bargained.

"A millennium," Crowley countered. Cas could not believe they were doing this as Dean lay here with his blood pooling on the ground.

"Fifty years."

"A century, and I'll give a complete favor. A complete task, no argument."

"Done," Crowley snapped his fingers.

All three men looked down at the body laying slumped on the ground. For a moment, nothing happened. Cas leaned down and placed his bloodied fingers on Dean's neck to feel for a pulse.

Still nothing.

"Crowley…"

"Sorry, I can't do anything," Crowley honestly looked remorseful as he laid a hand on Cas' shoulder.

The angel felt his knees give out. He knew he'd just landed in Dean's life blood that had spread out in too large pool around him.

And like all things, it was not the shock of the event that sent Cas over the edge, it was a little thing. The smallest detail that sent the angel collapsing into himself; after everything they'd gone through, he and Dean were supposed to at last be fine. Everything was going to be okay. Now that future was ripped away.

It was still warm. The blood that soaked into his pants was still warm.

The angel he had been, the warrior, had never left him feeling as complete as when he met Dean. When he was sent to raise that blessed soul. Everything changed and finally, Castiel had understood his place in this world, and _he_ had decided to follow Dean without reservation and then…

Dean Winchester. It seemed wrong on so many levels. How could the man who changed the whole of humanity's future lay here in such an insignificant stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, killed by a car? It seemed so ignoble.

"Isn't he a Knight of Hell with that Mark?" Cas heard Crowley ask through his numbness. "Aren't you guys immortal?"

Dean wasn't immortal. His body was getting colder by the second in Cas' arms, and there was nothing Heaven or Hell could do.

**S-S-S-S-S**

"Dean heals fast, but it wasn't fast enough when we checked earlier," Cain numbly said. Damn it – of course it would happen like this. There was never a time when Cain would be allowed to keep a shred of hope or goodness for himself.

"Shh," Castiel had taken his coat off and covered Dean's torso. Trembling fingers were threading through wet hair. There wasn't much to offer by way of comfort for the angel – his crisp white shirt had a fine red mist sprayed across his chest from one of Dean's last breaths. The sight was obscene knowing what they'd just come through…

"Lift his soul," murmured the angel. Pointless. Marked like they were, there was no lifting of their souls, but if it made Castiel feel better. Well, last rites were personal.

"Bloody hell," Crowley kicked Castiel in the leg. "Get up you tosser and get his brother."

"Back off demon."

"Real tears, Dean's dead again. Yes – Now, go get his brother," Crowley rolled his eyes.

"I'm warning you, stop." Cain felt his Mark warm up and start to itch. It'd been years since the damned thing had acted up and now all he wanted to do was show this upstart demon that Abaddon was far from the most dangerous Knight in existence.

"I'd get Moose, but his underground castle it's welcoming to my kind. So Castiel needs to man up and go get the _brother_," the King of Hell said with inflection. As if watching Dean's counterpart to Cain's Able grieve was in anyway appealing.

"Tell me demon," Cain said as he stepped into Crowley's personal space and lowered his voice. "Dean was your weapon, correct?"

"Correct."

"Powerful?"

"Unbelievably. And after the Mark it was almost implausible how powerful he was," Crowley confirmed with a nod.

"Now, you're not stupid. Think. Dean was your choice of a weapon against Abaddon. Who made them both?" Cain stared directly in the King's eyes without blinking. This babe in arms need to learn his limits.

"You did."

"So what would that make me, Crowley?"

"Sod off – you're a bloody nuke," Crowley rubbed a hand down his face.

"Don't piss me off; leave the angel alone," Cain said plainly.

"Right. Fine. But here's the thing," Crowley's accent got a little stronger. Nervous? "That twonk over there? His world revolves around Sam – love, hate, protect, fight, whatever. Now, you have this Mark that drives you to kill. Kill your brother. _Your bloody brother._"

Cain stared at the demon. Everything he said was true, but Dean was dead.

"Listen, Dean Winchester doesn't die. I know you're new here, so I understand you don't have a copy of the play book yet. Let me recap – Dean? If there's a monkey's arse chance of getting him back, get his brother here now," Crowley finished. The demon seemed to recover himself and straightened his suit.

"Castiel?" Cain called out softly.

"Um?" was the vague noise the angel gave in response.

"There's a small chance the Mark will respond to Sam-," Cain stopped as Cas laid Dean's shattered body on the wet pavement. It was only a moment later that the much spoken of Sam Winchester stood over the body of his dead brother.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed as he dropped to his knees.

Crowley was there in a heartbeat dragging the mammoth man up.

"Later Moose. Right now, you need to punch Dean," Crowley said with a straight face.

There was complete silence. Not just the three men, but it seemed like even the ambient noise had stopped in shock at the demons words.

"Screw off man. That's my brother. Dead!"

"And how many times has he died Sam?" Crowley asked. That gave the younger Winchester pause.

"Go on."

That settled it. The Winchesters were as insane as the stories everybody kept alluding to made them out to be. What kind of man could stand over the body of his kin and seriously listen to a demon explain why the corpse needed to be punched in the face? Bizarre and inexplicable.

Sam was nodding. Damn, Cain had missed part of the demon's explanation.

"Fine," Sam sighed as he knelt next to Dean's cooling corpse. Jesus, these people were just wrong in so many ways.

Winchester the younger pulled his fist back and sighed. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and shook his head as if sharing Cain thoughts for a moment. Only for a moment though, because in the next instant his clenched knuckles were driving straight for his brothers untouched face. One of the only things that had escaped the carnage.

Blink and you'd have missed it.

Cas had been holding Dean's hand one moment, and the next… Well, the next, Sam was wailing in pain as his brother crushed his fist before it could make contact.

"Christ Sammy, just gimme' a second," Dean slurred in a drunk coming off a three day bender.

"Told you," Crowley preened.

Cain turned his head to glare at the demon with a raised eyebrow.

"The Mark? Dean's been wanting to kill his brother for a while now; bloke can't stand being in the same room. Can't even stand hearing his name really. So, if Sam tried to beat him up – well, we couldn't fix him, because that bloody Mark stopped us. Seemed like it was needed kick in the arse," the demon smirked. Cain bowed his head in acknowledgement.

That was actually very sound reasoning.

"Right," Cain watched as Dean coughed blood out. A disturbing amount honestly, but he supposed it had to happen. "Cas, take Sam and get the Blade. Crowley, get your demons lined up. As soon as Dean's ready we're taking this fight to Adabbon."

"We?" Crowley asked in that smug tone. Cain hated him so much. At least other rulers had respected the Knights. "Who put you in charge?"

Cain pulled his sleeve up. There sat his Mark, as livid as the day he received it. He placed his hand over it and pulled. Dean had been right – it was alive. A sick wriggling worm under his skin. He concentrated; in his mind's eye he pinched it. Surprisingly, it went slack under his fingers and bent to his will. The shape Dean had chosen wasn't the one Cain would have picked, but it wasn't bad either. He twisted the damned Mark into the new shape and opened his eyes.

"Crowley, I've seen so many Kings in Hell, I stopped bothering to learn their names. If I tell you it's time to get something done, you get it done. Otherwise we wind up on opposite sides. Would you like to be on any side that opposes me?" Cain asked with a calm voice.

The demon looked like he wanted argue – which spoke volumes about either his hubris or reluctance to abandon his planned attack.

"You may want to keep in mind the company I've decide to keep," Cain added helpfully.

"Winchesters buggering every last thing up every time," the demon muttered.

Cain wasn't one to lie to himself, it was entertaining to watch something as powerful as the ruler of Hell brought low every once in a while. Something Cain had never himself done, but he'd seen it happen a few times.

"Oi Feathers – Take Moose and get the Blade. Chop chop."

"This is why you don't have any friends man," Dean called out between wet breaths. At least he was breathing regularly now. The healing was speeding up.

**S-S-S-S-S**

Eyes were hard. People called them blue or green. Sometimes an author would use fancy words like cerulean or emerald. Brown would become liquid chocolate, and sometimes even a hazel if there were flecks of another color. Or whisky swirling in an Old Fashioned glass held up to the light.

It might be that grey would become stormy grey, or possibly steel grey.

But that was lie.

A sweater was cerulean. The perfectly cut stone in a ring was emerald, and ice cream was chocolate.

The first thing Dean noticed when struggled his way into consciousness was Castiel's eyes. He'd always thought they were blue, but it was a lie.

Science had proven that water was blue – so start there. And everybody knew that water was the building block of life. It literally held the keys to the beginning of us all.

Then freeze it. You'd get gorgeous cracks in the ice like some modern artist had used it as a canvas. Those lighter lines shot from his pupil and radiated outward. But these eyes weren't cold...

Depending on Cas' mood they might burn you with his wrath or warm you in his love. And yes, he could freeze you with his hate, but luckily not many had not been subjected to that. Not truly.

The ring around the outside was so dark you could almost be forgiven for thinking it was black. _Almost_. It was the same black that people call the sky at night. They were wrong; it was just the darkest of blues – so dark that black sometimes tried to dance with it.

That was not cerulean, and most certainly not _blue_.

As if.

Crap, it had to be a lack of oxygen.

God, that was _poetry._

Dean struggled to stop thinking about Cas' eyes and took a deep breath. Shit that hurt.

Letting go of Sam's fist, he tried to piece together what had happened. Car, blood, dying. Well, that last part wasn't new. However, Sam trying to beat his corpse was a new addition.

The people around him were talking; he couldn't follow the thread of the conversation. Hell, he could barely hear over the gross sounds of air moving out of the hole in his chest. It was covered now, thank you Cas, but he the image of the damage was still burned in his mind.

Speaking of Cas, why the fuck had he been brought back this time in a broken body? Usually he was at least a little better off when he'd been shredded before dying. He felt the coat lift and finally opened his eyes again.

Cas had taken it off and was methodically pealing the sticky clothing off his body. Dean felt his stomach lurch with the pain when the blood soaked fabric that had started to dry into his wounds was pulled off.

"Stop," Dean murmured. "Get Sam."

"Right here man," Sam said, and damn it. Dean was still more than half dead and the Mark still called for blood. Even after changing the shape, it still wanted to fuck Sam's shit up. Dean couldn't kill a butterfly right now. Seriously, the Mark was going to have to find a new outlet for its angst soon.

"Still wanna' kick your ass, so don't get weepy. Need you to patch me up," Dean managed to get out in choppy bits between haggard breaths.

Without a word, Sam nodded and set to the task. He told Cas to get some water, scissors, a needle, thread, clean towels and clothes. Yeah, that sounded like the standard Winchester fix it kit. Within minutes Sam was soaking his clothing in water. Water to help loosen the dried blood soaked fabric from the wounds – helped keep the pain to a minimum.

Next came cutting them off, washing the blood and gore away, and…

"I don't think you're going need stitches," Sam said. "Your chest is still – uh open. But Cas said it was basically caved in. And it's just… not."

Dean looked down.

"Son of a bitch," Dean huffed a little. Okay, maybe he shouldn't have done that. A little air bubbled some blood through the slowly knitting skin over hole in his chest cavity.

"Dude, I'm a freaking super hero," Dean managed a half smile. "Always thought it would hurt less."

"Just lay back and let your body finish its work. It will actually hurt less as it learns to heal faster," Cain said as he walked up and loomed over Dean's prone form.

"You're a giant. Like the jolly green giant. But not green. Not dressed like an overgrown elf. Not like the jolly green giant. Just a giant." Dude looked freakishly tall from here. Maybe Dean was Antman. That was his superhero.

"I'm not Antman, man," Dean supplied.

Sam snorted.

"You've lost a lot of blood," Cas continued as if Dean hadn't spoken. Once his brain caught up, Dean could only be thankful the Knight decided to let the babbling slide. "It should only take a minimal time to replenish your supply judging on the speed of healing."

"I'm loopy," Dean announced.

"You are," Cas confirm.

"You're a smegging idiot," Crowley added.

"Don't be mad Bro - just cuz you couldn't tap this." Oh God, shut him up.

Cas smirked, Sam gaped, and Cain coughed as Crowley glared.

"I believe the term is 'Don't stick you're dick in crazy'," Crowley shot back without hesitation. Dean couldn't help the shout of laughter that was quickly followed by groaning of pain.

"As soon as you heal, Sam will retrieve the Blade, and we're going after Abaddon. We aren't going to be any better prepared; she's become less stable and thus less predictable," Cain announced, continuing to ignore the interruptions.

"Goodie," Dean grimaced. "Who is we?"

"You, Cain, Cas, Sam. Oh, and all the denizens of Hell and my lovely self of course," Crowley spoke up.

"Sam?"

"I can help Dean," Sam said firmly. "She's just as afraid of me as she is of you. The two of us will divide her attention and her attacks. You know it's true, and it's smart."

Dean grunted. His brother was about to die. He tried to care; he really did try. There might have been a little something, but all he could summon was a memory of panic at the thought.

"Good idea." Sam looked surprised at the lack of a fight. "Crowley – you ready?"

"Of course love," Crowley looked vaguely bored, which meant he was nervous. Great.

"Cas? You think we're ready?" He never doubted for a moment his angel would have his back – it was the best feeling.

"I think it's your best chance. You've cemented your allies and have the element of surprise. She thinks your dead – Abaddon will assume Crowley will be scrabbling, at least for a little while. Her guard will be down." What Dean wouldn't have done, wouldn't have given, to have seen Castiel plan a battle for the Host. A legion of angels ready for battle. Fuck that would've been amazing.

"Cool. Cain? You comin' to watch little ol' me kick some old bitch ass?"

There was a pause that went on for a little longer than Dean was strictly comfortable with. He was positive Crowley had said Cain was in on this thing.

"I think I'm going to let you watch my back while I finally take care of some old business that should have been taken care of a while ago," the Knight finally said before baring his forearm to Dean.

"Holy… Yeah. Man, I got your back. Talk about element of surprise," Dean wasn't sure what to do with that. Cain, the first Knight of Hell had changed his Mark to match Dean's Pi sign.

"Sounds like we have a plan boys," Crowley said clapping his hands before rubbing them together.

Dean struggled to get up. He was done laying down like a damned invalid.

A strong arm appeared before him. Cain. He reached up and Cain grabbed him by the forearm hoisting him up. As soon as he got his feet under him, Dean should have let go.

It should have been awkward, but it turned into a strange handshake – instead of hands, they clasped each other's Mark's. The Marks that now they'd each changed to match.

Hell yeah.

The planning didn't take long – really it was just a matter of organizing themselves and confirming Abaddon's location. She hadn't bothered moving, so that was easy. Crowley's slimy little sycophant had been able to report that only a few of her generals had stuck around. It wouldn't take long for her call the rest of her army, but that first strike would be theirs.

All that was left was for them to take it.

**S-S-S-S-S**

AN:

Old Fashioned Glass is the name of the actual glass used to drink straight whiskey.


End file.
